Thieves Like Us
by neaira.awakened
Summary: AU fic where Daveth and Jory survive the joining, and join Brosca and Alistair on their quest. Can two thieves find the strength in each other to uphold their newly sworn oaths?
1. Chapter 1

Daveth stared miserably at the ground, guards at either side of him. Cutting that purse was supposed to have been such an easy little thing. Hadn't he spent the last six years in Denerim doing just that? He'd steal just enough for one day to survive through the next, staying one step ahead of the guards. One slip up was all it took to get caught. Now he was as good as dead.

It was a busy day at the market and Daveth was hungry. He'd been wandering aimlessly around the kiosks when he spied the dark-haired man and his fancy battleskirt haggling with a merchant, a fat purse hanging off of his belt.

Daveth smirked as he thought of the meal he'd be eating that night. He walked slowly through the crowd toward his mark. He felt the rush of anticipation with each step, and slipped his hidden knife out of a pocket. The dark-haired man stood before him, back turned. Daveth reached out and cut the purse from the man's belt in one movement, catching it with his other hand. He grinned at the weight of it, and turned to slip away – and then the dark-haired man grabbed his wrists.

"I believe that's mine," the dark-haired man said in a voice as steely as his grip. Daveth kicked the man's shin and wriggled wildly out of the grasp. He ran blindly through the crowd, and heard the man yell, "Stop!" behind him. Daveth glanced over his shoulder and panicked. The dark-haired man was chasing him, and Maker be damned if he wasn't gaining on him. Daveth's head whipped forward and he pressed himself harder. All he had to do was make it to the alley. If he could do that, he'd be able to lose the dark-haired man.

Daveth's heart thudded in his chest. He was almost there. He glanced over his shoulder once more and saw the dark-haired man had fallen back. Daveth grinned widely at him – and ran straight into the arms of two of Denerim's finest – the city guard. They were hauling him off the gallows when the dark-haired man caught up to them.

"Wait," he said. "I'd like to speak to this young man."

"Sorry, Warden," one of the guards said. "We've got a noose with Daveth's name on it, and it's been waiting long enough."

Daveth groaned inwardly. He had tried to rob a bloody Grey Warden?

The Warden stepped forward. "I'm afraid it'll be waiting for some time. I'm invoking the Right of Conscription." The Warden turned and looked at him. "Daveth, is it? You'll be coming with me."

"What? Me? A Grey Warden?" Daveth gaped at him.

The Warden smiled. "You showed remarkable stealth and agility. If I had been any other man, you would have made off with my purse and been halfway across the city before I'd noticed. We need that kind of skill in the Wardens."

The guards shoved Daveth aside, and walked away, disgusted. Daveth stared at the Warden, dumbstruck.

"We should leave immediately," the Warden said. "The guards had no choice but to leave you to my care, but they won't be happy about it. It's best if we get on our way."

Daveth fell in step with the Warden. "So… sorry about that, Warden. I… well, if I had known who you were…"

"My name is Duncan, and if you had known who I was, you would have gotten caught picking someone else's pocket and ended up on the gallows."

Daveth nodded slowly, not daring to meet the Warden's gaze.

"Come, we've got a lot of ground to cover," Duncan said. "We're picking up another recruit in Redcliffe."

It would be four days on foot to reach the village. Duncan was decent enough company, although Daveth still felt sheepish around him. One night, he finally worked up the courage to ask Duncan the question that had been sitting on his tongue since Denerim.

"Why me?"

Duncan looked up at him from the fire. "I know what it's like to live each day wondering if you'll get a meal. You reminded me of myself."

* * *

They reached Redcliffe Village in the afternoon. Duncan said the other recruit, Ser Jory, was a former knight from Redcliffe, though he hailed from Highever now.

"I sent word to Highever for Ser Jory to meet us here at the inn," Duncan said, tilting his head toward a building to the east. "I have business with Arl Eamon at the castle. Go find Jory and meet me there."

Daveth grinned. "Any chance I could sit and have a pint or two while I'm there?"

"Take your time," Duncan chuckled. "But remember: you are a Grey Warden, and I expect you to act accordingly." With that, the Warden turned and made his way across the bridge.

Daveth headed toward the inn. Redcliffe Village hadn't changed much since he was a boy. Daveth had been there once when his father had gotten it into his head that he could be a trader. He remembered Redcliffe as being a bustling village, and from the looks of it, not much had changed.

The inn sat atop a hill, probably so the customers would want to drink more once they got there. Daveth opened the door and raucous laughter and music filled the air. A pretty bar wench greeted him with a smile and sauntered over.

"What can I get for you, love?" she asked. "We've got ale from the local brewery, wine… whatever strikes your fancy."

"How's about a kiss from a pretty lady?" Daveth winked at her. "No? Alright, I'll have a pint of your local brew. And I'm looking for a knight, Ser Jory. Do you know him?"

The wench inclined her head toward a man off in the corner. "I'll bring your ale over. My name's Bella if you need anything."

Daveth walked over and sat down next to him. "I hear you're Jory. Name's Daveth. Duncan recruited me in Denerim."

The knight turned and looked him up and down. "That's _Ser_ Jory. You don't look like much of a knight. Did you win a tourney in Denerim?"

"I cut Duncan's purse and he caught me," Daveth grinned.

"You're a cutpurse?" the knight asked, scandalized.

"And a pickpocket, thank you very much." Bella came over with his ale, and Daveth took a long drink. "He says the Wardens could use a man like me. Might be the darkspawn have deep pockets."

"I… I cannot believe… I worked very hard to get here," Jory stammered. "Being recruited to the Grey Wardens is the greatest honor you could be given. I can't believe Duncan would take a… a…"

"Maybe I don't deserve to be here, but I am." Daveth shrugged, and glanced over at Bella. "Take a look at her, would you? I'd like to give her a taste of ol' Daveth, if you know what I mean."

Jory stared at him blankly.

"Don't tell me you've never been with a woman, _Ser Knight_?" Daveth laughed.

"I'll have you know I have a wife back in Highever," Jory said, color rising to his face. "She's heavy with child."

"And you've left her all alone in her time of need? How very noble of you." Daveth smirked.

The knight looked as if he were about to cry. "My wife understands that I was given a very important opportunity, and… she… I would _never_ abandon her!"

"Don't wet your trousers, Ser Knight," Daveth said, rolling his eyes. "Duncan wants us to meet him up at the castle. He had business with the arl."

Jory stood abruptly, nearly knocking over his pint. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to go now."

Daveth shrugged, and drained the rest of his ale. "Maker, that hits the spot." He tossed a coin on the table and whistled at Bella. "Thanks, sweetheart, I'll come back to give you your tip later."

"You do that and you're like to get a swift kick in the ass," Bella laughed. Jory's face turned red and he walked quickly to the door.

Daveth shook his head at the knight and followed him out. They walked silently to the castle, though Jory kept shooting looks at him, with those large, blank eyes.

Daveth couldn't help but notice Jory's uncanny resemblance to a cow, and sniggered to himself.

They met Duncan at the castle and found the arl had offered them beds for the night. Daveth looked around at the castle, awestruck. There were so many trinkets and so many locked doors. It sent a chill down his spine just to think about it. But… he was a Grey Warden now, or at least, he would be. He shook his head and pushed the thoughts away.

Duncan joined them in the guest room and smiled wearily. "Get as much rest as you can. We leave for Ostagar in the morning."


	2. Chapter 2

Daveth was ten when his mother died. The boy packed up what food he could and headed west, hoping to find Denerim. Instead, he found Ostagar, abandoned and crumbling. He lasted three days until he'd scared himself with thoughts of witches and wildlings coming to eat him and went back to the village. His father had thrashed him doubly hard that night.

He was sixteen when he ran away the fourth time and actually ended up in Denerim. After hours of heading north on the Imperial highway, some traders spotted him and offered him a ride on their wagon. He promised himself he'd never go back as he watched the hinterlands fade into the horizon - but a lot of promises were broken in the name of survival. Daveth felt a bitter taste in his mouth, and for moment he wondered how much of that boy was still in him. He pushed the thoughts away.

He glanced over at Jory, who had taken a liking to sitting mournfully by the fire each night, moaning about his fat wife in Highever. It was hard to believe the knight had won some fancy tournament, given how much he complained. Tonight, Jory sat chewing on his bread like a cow, his blank stare fixated on nothing in particular. Duncan had retired to his tent for a few hours rest.

"What's on your mind, Ser Knight?" Daveth asked, lazily tossing a stone into the fire.

Jory turned his head slowly and frowned. "I was just thinking about my wife. She's heavy with child and I regret leaving her."

Daveth smirked and leaned forward. "I'm disappointed in you, Ser Knight, getting all worked up over a pretty face."

"That's not how it is at all," Jory replied sadly, his large eyes pricked with tears.

"Oh? My mistake then. It's even worse if the woman is ugly, but I suppose it's what's between her legs that really counts." Daveth winked at him.

Jory's face reddened. "My wife is the most beautiful woman in all of Highever. I thank the Maker every day for her! You… you have no right to talk about her like that. We may be brothers in arms, but I would not hesitate in defending her honor!"

Daveth rolled his eyes. "Fat lot of good that would do you out here, Ser Knight." He pulled his cloak over his shoulders before leaning back and closing his eyes. He heard the knight mutter something under his breath, and he gave himself up to the Fade.

* * *

Duncan led them down the old Tevinter road into Ostagar, and Daveth felt a chill. It hadn't changed much since he had been there as a boy, save for the armies. He listened as Duncan filled them in on the situation: a Blight was looming, and King Cailan hoped to end it before it began by bringing the fight to the darkspawn. Jory had paled at that, though for once, kept his complaints to himself. Daveth clenched his jaw and walked on, following Duncan to the Grey Warden tent.

"Duncan!" a voice called out merrily as they approached. Daveth turned to see a young man jogging toward them. "I was just about to send out a search party."

"Alistair," Duncan said warmly. "I'd like you to meet our newest recruits. This is Ser Jory, from Highever, and Daveth, from Denerim. Would you mind showing them around Ostagar? I must seek counsel with the king."

Alistair nodded. "Welcome to Ostagar, I'll be your tour guide. To your left you'll see the scenic crumbling ruin, and to your right you'll see… oh, looks like more scenic crumbling ruin!" Daveth grinned back, thankful that this one at least had a sense of humor.

"So, Ser Jory, is it? Duncan said he was hoping to recruit you. But Daveth, I'm afraid I haven't heard much about you aside from Duncan's letter."

"Oh, I'm not nearly as accomplished as our esteemed Ser Knight, but this beats cutting purses any day." Daveth grinned, punching Jory on the arm. "Isn't that right, brother?"

Jory snorted. "I am not your brother, and I cannot believe I am to share rank with a common thief."

Alistair glanced at the knight and smirked. "Funny, the Wardens only recruit uncommon thieves."

Daveth snickered as Jory's face turned red and turned back to their guide. "What about you, Alistair? How'd you end up in the Wardens?"

"Oh, it's pretty boring, really," Alistair said with a shrug. "I spent years rotting in the Chantry and training as a templar before Duncan came and recruited me. That was, what, six months ago? Anyway, here I am, a Grey Warden."

They found Duncan later, plotting out a trail on his map. He said he would be heading north in search of one last recruit, and would send a letter when he was coming back. Daveth watched him walk away and rubbed the back of his neck.

"He's a pretty decent fellow, that Duncan," he thought aloud as Duncan's silhouette disappeared on the horizon.

"He's the finest man I've ever known," Alistair replied and cleared his throat. "Come on… let's get you fellows some food."

* * *

Several weeks passed before Duncan sent news of his return. The armies and Grey Wardens alike were preparing for something big, and Daveth had overheard hushed conversations. Duncan would be putting them through some sort of ritual upon his return, though just what that ritual entailed never found its way to Daveth's ears. He'd even gone as far as to ask Alistair what the big secret was, but the templar was not exactly forthcoming.

"I'd tell you if I could," Alistair said with a sigh. "But Duncan will explain everything soon enough."

So, Daveth did what he did best and snuck around the camp looking for marks, though he hadn't actually cut a purse since Denerim. Except Jory's… once. He'd spied Jory talking with a priestess, forlorn and oblivious, and before Daveth really knew what he was doing, he'd gone up and slipped the knight's purse right off his belt. Later on when the knight noticed it was missing, Daveth grinned and tossed it to him.

"Better watch where you leave your things, Ser Knight," he said. Jory had thrown a fit and threatened to tell Duncan upon his return, though he couldn't prove Daveth had actually taken his purse. And none of his things were missing. Daveth just laughed and went to sleep.

A few more days passed when he saw the dwarf, and he knew that Duncan had returned. He'd been flirting with one of the king's soldiers when he spotted her. She was taller than he'd expected dwarves to be - not quite so tall as an elf, but built much stronger.

"Well, you're not what I expected you'd be," he called to her. She stopped and turned to him, eyeing him curiously before approaching.

"And who are you?" the dwarf asked, quirking an eyebrow. She was pleasant to look at, Daveth thought, though nothing about her was particularly striking. Well, maybe the tattoos. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a look about her to let on she'd seen more than most.

"The name's Daveth, and it's about bloody time you came along," Daveth grinned at her. "I was beginning to think they cooked up this ritual just for our benefit."

"I'm Natia," she replied, brushing a stray hair away from her face. "What do you know about this 'ritual', anyway?"

Daveth leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. "I happened to be sneaking around camp last night, see, and I heard some Wardens talking… so, I listen in a for bit. I think they're planning to send us into the Wilds."

Natia frowned. "The Wilds? Never heard of them."

"Oh, right, don't expect that you would have. The Wilds are full of witches and barbarians, and other beasts. Scary place, if you ask me."

Natia cocked her head, smiling. "I'll watch your back if you watch mine."

"Oh, I'll watch your back alright," Daveth shot back, grinning.

"Just don't get too distracted back there," Natia purred.

"I'll try not to," Daveth called behind her as she walked away. He whistled softly to himself, and made his way back to Duncan's tent.

He was staring at the fire and nursing his flagon of water when Jory flopped down beside him, a foul look on his stupid face.

"What's the matter, Ser Knight?" Daveth asked.

Jory stared into the fire. "What do you think about the dwarf Duncan recruited?"

"Natia? She's got a nice ass and a sense of humor," Daveth replied. "Which is more than I can say about you."

The knight scowled. "I didn't even know dwarves could _join_ the Grey Wardens, and she's a woman, too. And she told me I was stupid."

Daveth spit out his water and laughed. "What's the matter, Ser Knight? Afraid she's more of a man that you are? Besides, the dwarves were fighting darkspawn long before you were suckling at your poor mother's teat."

"I… that's just… I'll have you know I worked very hard to get here," Jory stammered, his face turning all shades of red.

Daveth smirked at him. "You keep saying that, Ser Knight, but in the end, a dog is just a dog."

"I'm going to find Duncan and… you'll regret saying these things to me!"

"Are you going to tell him I hurt your feelings? I'm sure he'd love to see you for the blubbering mess you are."

Jory's face crumpled and tears began streaming down his face.

Daveth rolled his eyes and groaned. "Oh, Maker, pull yourself together." He awkwardly patted the knight's back, and looked around him. Duncan had returned to the tent and Natia and Alistair were walking up as well.

He pulled Jory to his feet and listened. It was time to start the ritual, and they were going into the Wilds, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

They followed the witch through the wilds back to Ostagar. Daveth watched her warily, and for a moment, he was ten years old again. The worst part about it was that the witch seemed to know how nervous he was_._ She glanced over her shoulder at him with her mocking yellow eyes, reading him like an open book. Daveth steeled himself and flexed his fingers absentmindedly over the hilt of his dagger. The witch smirked and walked on. Soon they had arrived at the gates.

"Here we are, safe and sound at Ostagar," the witch said, the hint of a sneer playing on her lips. "Now, off with you before I decide to throw you into my stew."

Alistair stepped toward her and narrowed his eyes. "What did your mother mean about this Blight being a greater threat than we think?"

"Oh, how cute. I've brought you to safety, and now you're brave enough to speak?" The witch scoffed as she turned away from him. "But… I cannot say; my dear mother keeps many secrets."

"Even from you?" Alistair asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Especially from me."

Daveth felt a chill run down his spine. "We should get back to Duncan."

"Y-yes," Jory stammered, his eyes wide and face pale.

"Thank you, Morrigan," Natia said, brushing a stray hair from her face. The witch faltered slightly, and nodded.

Daveth glanced at Natia. The dwarf had more courage than three men put together, remaining calm even when the witch – Morrigan – had appeared. Natia caught him staring, and he felt a blush rising to his cheeks. He turned quickly, expecting to see Morrigan's figure walking through the trees. She was gone.

They entered the ruins and made their way toward the Grey Warden tent. Duncan was sitting by the fire, writing. He glanced up at them and rolled up his parchment before placing it into his bag.

"You have returned. Have you been successful?"

"We have," Natia stepped forward, holding out the treaties. Daveth held up the vials of darkspawn blood.

"Good. I've had the Circle mages preparing. With the blood you've retrieved, we can begin the Joining immediately," Duncan said, the campfire crackling behind him.

Daveth and Natia exchanged glances. The dwarf drew herself up and spoke. "Now will you tell us what this Joining is all about?"

Duncan's face softened as he looked at her. "I will not lie. We Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decide that you are to pay your price now rather than later."

"I've come this far," Natia said quietly. "I want to see this through."

Daveth swallowed hard. "Let's go, then. I'm anxious to see this Joining now."

"I agree… let's have it done," Jory said, his wide eyes betraying no sign of fear.

"Now, that's the bravest thing I've heard out of you yet, Ser Knight!" Daveth chuckled, slapping the knight's back. Jory glared at him, and he shrugged.

Duncan shook his head. "Alistair, take them to the old temple."

* * *

"The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it," Jory whined nervously as he paced. His agitation was wearing on Daveth's nerves.

Daveth groaned. "Are you blubbering again?"

"Why all these damned tests? Have I not earned my place?"

"Maybe it's tradition," Daveth sneered. "Or maybe they're trying to annoy you."

Natia rolled her eyes. "I swear I'm the bravest one here."

"I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way," the knight frowned. "If they warned me… it's not fair."

"Would you have come if they had warned you?" Daveth shot back, heat rising to his face. "Maybe that's why that don't. The Wardens do what they must, right?"

"Including sacrificing us?" Jory sputtered, his face blanched.

"I'd sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight." Daveth shook his head and turned away.

"Daveth's right," Natia said, her dark eyes trained on the knight. "You saw those darkspawn in the Wilds."

"Yeah, Ser Knight, wouldn't you die to protect your pretty wife from them?" Daveth stepped forward and poked the knight hard in the chest. When Jory sputtered, he pressed on. "Maybe you'll die. Maybe we'll all die. But if nobody stops the darkspawn, we'll die for sure."

Jory shook his head. "I've just never faced a foe I could not engage with my blade."

Daveth opened his mouth to respond when Alistair caught his eye. The templar shook his head slightly and Daveth turned to see Duncan approaching.

"Finally, we come to the Joining," Duncan said. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight when humanity stood at the brink of annihilation. And so it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood… and mastered their taint."

Daveth blinked, not sure if he had heard correctly. He glanced at the knight. Jory had gone pale and looked as if he would get sick. So he _had_ heard correctly.

"We're going to… drink the blood… of those creatures?" Jory sputtered. Beads of sweat began forming on his brow.

Duncan looked at the knight with solemn eyes. "As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory."

Alistair cleared his throat. "Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn, and use it to slay the archdemon."

"Those who survive?" Natia asked, nervously tugging at her hair. Daveth noticed the lines of her tattoos as her face twisted into worry.

"Not all who drink the blood will survive, but those who do are forever changed," Duncan hesitated. "This is why the Joining is a secret. It is the price we must pay. We speak only a few words prior to the Joining. These words have been said since the First. Alistair, if you would?"

The templar nodded and bowed his head. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten... and that one day, we shall join you."

Daveth looked around at his companions. Natia looked frightened, though he thought she was hiding it well. The knight, however, looked as though he was about to wet his trousers, and for the first time since they met, Daveth understood why.

"I'll go first," he said, his voice calm and level. Duncan looked at him, and Daveth thought he saw a hint of pride behind the Warden's dark eyes.

"Step forward, Daveth."

He moved forward on shaky legs, his footfalls echoing off the stone walls of the ruin. His breath was ragged and unsteady. Duncan held the silver chalice out to him and nodded. He hesitated. His fingers twitched involuntarily as they closed around the cup.

Daveth steeled himself and held the chalice to his lips, and he drank. The corruption was spilling into him. Overtaking him. His heart beat faster. He heard the blood roaring behind his ears. He fell, and the darkness took him.


	4. Chapter 4

_A dragon flew overhead. The archdemon. It roared and sailed to the ground. The beast sensed him then and he felt it reaching into his mind with a song. It called to him, invaded him. The dragon came at him, the ground quaking beneath it. The song grew louder, and louder still. He fell to his knees and screamed, cradling his head in his hands until he forced himself to stand once more. The dragon towered over him, corruption dripping from its mouth. He yelled out in frustration and his fingers closed around the hilt of a dagger, and he ran. _

_

* * *

_

"I think he's coming around, Duncan."

The voice broke through the roaring in his head, muffled and distorted. Daveth stirred, and felt the cool touch of stone beneath him. The gentle kiss of a breeze upon his cheeks coaxed him to open his eyes.

"Oh, Maker," Daveth groaned, holding a hand to his forehead. His head throbbed mercilessly as his eyes focused. Duncan and Alistair stood above him.

"Welcome to the Grey Wardens, Daveth," Duncan said, holding out a hand to him. Daveth took it and struggled to his feet. "How do you feel?"

"My head is killing me," Daveth began, feeling a pang in his stomach. "And I'm starving. What about the others?"

"They live." Duncan nodded toward the ground behind him, where Natia and Jory were laying. "Alistair, take Daveth to the tent and get him some stew. I'll stay here and watch over the others."

He followed Alistair to the campfire, his head throbbing and stomach growling. Something felt different inside of him, he could feel it. He sat by the fire and Alistair handed him a bowl of stew, grey and unappealing, though no food had ever looked finer. He devoured it and begged for seconds.

Alistair chuckled and played at wiping a tear from his eye. "I remember my Joining. I ate so much I thought I was going to burst. Between you and me, I can't believe Ser Jory made it. I thought Duncan was going to have to run him through."

Daveth chewed and swallowed. "What do you mean?"

"When you passed out, he panicked and started going on about his wife and how he couldn't leave her alone. Duncan calmed him down and he finally took the chalice and drank, poor bastard. But Natia, she drank it without as much as a tremble. She's something else."

"She is," Daveth agreed as he reached for his flagon. He drank deeply and sighed. "So what happens now?"

"We wait for the others and then... well, Duncan will fill you in."

It wasn't long before the knight came lumbering toward the fire, his wide eyes moving wildly as he walked. He sat heavily beside Daveth and stared wide-eyed into the flames. Alistair stood and said he would be heading back to Duncan.

Daveth watched the templar leave and turned to Jory. "Bloody hell, eh, Ser Knight? My head is still throbbing." When the knight shrugged, Daveth pressed on. "Did you have any dreams? I swear I was face to face with the archdemon, I was. And I heard this song… this awful song."

Jory slumped forward and groaned. "This was a mistake. I never wanted this. If I had known, I never…"

"It's too late now, isn't it?" Daveth smiled ruefully as he shook his head. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the knight. All he wanted was a taste of glory, after all, but glory was a thing of boyhood dreams. "Come on, Ser Knight, eat something. Battle is coming."

* * *

The armies had left their camps and Ostagar was quiet. Fires burned around the ruin, casting shadows against the old stone. Duncan stood solemnly before them, looking each of them over silently. Daveth met the Warden's gaze and nodded. Inside he was quaking, but he could fake confidence when he had to. At last, Duncan spoke.

"You heard the plan, Natia," he began, turning to the dwarf. "You and Alistair will go to the Tower of Ishal and light the beacon so Teyrn Loghain knows when to charge." She nodded.

Alistair cried out, and Daveth saw the color rise to the templar's cheeks. "What? I won't be in the battle?"

"King Cailan requested you do this specifically," Duncan said. "There will be other battles. Now, Daveth and Jory, you will be waiting with the teyrn's forces."

Jory whimpered. Natia shifted uncomfortably and awkwardly patted the knight on his arm. She caught Daveth's gaze and shook her head.

Daveth smirked and cleared his throat. "Where will you be, Duncan?"

"I will be with the king on the battlefield, with the rest of the Grey Wardens. Now, I want no heroics from any of you. Keep your posts and if you are needed, we will send word. You are Grey Wardens, and I expect you to be worthy of that title."

Alistair rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "I get it. But just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the remigold? That's where I draw the line."

Natia laughed. "I think I'd like to see that."

"For you, maybe," Alistair arched an eyebrow. "But it has to be a pretty dress." Daveth felt a pang of jealously at the exchange, and frowned.

Duncan sighed, and rubbed his brow. "It is time. Alistair, Natia… head to the Tower. Daveth, Jory, you'll find Teyrn Loghain's army through those gates."

"Duncan… may the Maker watch over you," Alistair hesitated. Daveth saw the sadness in his eyes.

"Maker watch over us all," Duncan said. The Warden looked them over one last time, and then he was gone.

* * *

Daveth heard the sounds of battle as he looked toward the tower. The beacon should have been lit by now, he thought. He flexed his fingers nervously and furrowed his brow.

"Something isn't right here, Ser Knight," he said in a hushed voice. "The others should have lit the beacon by now."

"Nothing about this is right!" Jory sputtered, his eyes darting wildly. "We're all doomed. Blight take us all!" He whimpered and dropped his gaze. "My wife… I'm sorry… I just… I don't… She's in Highever all alone." He began to sob.

Daveth groaned and grabbed the knight's shoulder. "Dammit, Jory, get a hold of yourself. What would your pretty little wife think if she saw your blubbering?" He pushed the knight aside, disgusted. "Redcliffe must have been low on soldiers when they accepted you into their ranks."

"The beacon!" a soldier cried out. Daveth turned and saw the flames burning in the distance.

"Get ready, Ser Knight." Daveth steeled himself and waited for the soldiers to march. He heard the blow of a horn and the army began to move – in the wrong direction. He ran alongside a soldier. "What are you doing?" The soldier did not respond.

Daveth fell back and stared stupidly at the army. "What are you doing?" He yelled again. "They're going the wrong way! Jory, we need to get to the tower." He turned and moved to grab the knight's arm, but he wasn't there.

"Jory!" he yelled, looking left and right. He saw him, then, moving with the army. Jory glanced over his shoulder at Daveth, his wide face drenched with tears, and in an instant he was gone.

Daveth clenched his jaw and turned back to the tower. He wasn't going to run away. Not now. Not ever.

He saw the darkspawn before he sensed them. He positioned himself behind a crumbling pillar and watched. There were hundreds of them swarming toward the tower. He'd never make it past them. Unless they had a small army with them at the top of the tower, Natia and Alistair were done for.

"Dammit," he muttered. He closed his eyes and tried to think. If he cut through the Wilds now… maybe he could find his way to the battlefield and do something. Daveth opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He ran.

He heard a growl behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a hurlock charging toward him. He rolled to his left and unsheathed his longbow. He loosed an arrow and caught the hurlock in the throat. It staggered forward and fell to its knees, and finally came to rest. He caught his breath and ran for the gates again, praying that more weren't close behind.

There weren't. Daveth made it to the Wilds and cut through a thatch of trees. Staying clear of the main trail was safer. He heard something behind him and he froze. Again, the crunch of leaves, and a low growl. Wolves. He had come across wolves when Duncan sent the four of them into the Wilds, but now he was alone. He reached clumsily for his daggers and backed away. The wolves stalked toward him, fangs bared and dripping.

Suddenly, a great burst of flame roared past his head. The wolves yelped and backed away. Another burst of flame sent them running. Daveth spun around. It was the witch, Morrigan.

"Y-you!" he stammered as he stumbled backwards. "What are you doing?"

"I'm saving your life. Or did you think I meant to hit you with the flames?" she rolled her eyes. "Come. We don't have much time."

He hesitated, still clutching his daggers.

"'Tis not an option, you fool. We must go, now!"

"I have to get to the king's army! I have to warn them!"

"Your king is dead," Morrigan spat, though he thought he saw a flash of sympathy behind her yellow eyes. "Everyone is dead."

Daveth opened his mouth but words escaped him. He couldn't be the last Grey Warden left, could he? He stumbled after her helplessly, and for the first time since his mother died, he prayed.

* * *

"Your friends live," Morrigan's mother said. The lines of her face danced and crinkled as she spoke. "I'm afraid the king and the rest of the Grey Wardens were not so lucky."

Daveth closed his eyes. "So, we've lost, then? The Blight will destroy us all."

She clicked her tongue. "Now, now, dear boy, you have more at your disposal than you think."

Daveth cocked his head. He wanted to ask what she meant, but he was sure he wouldn't get an answer. "How did you save them?"

The old witch cackled. "I transformed into a great bird and plucked them from the tower with my talons. One of my more useful tricks. Now, I must tend to your friends' wounds." She disappeared back into the hut.

Daveth stared out into the Wilds and sighed. Jory was gone, the coward, but Natia and Alistair would survive, and that was something to be thankful for. He leaned against a rock and closed his eyes. And as he gave himself up to the Fade, he heard the mournful howl of wolves in the distance.


	5. Chapter 5

"Do you hear something?" Daveth said. He stopped and stared at the road ahead. The wind rustled through leaves, and a bird sang in the distance.

"'Tis only the sound of Alistair's blubbering," Morrigan said after a moment, curling her lips into a sneer.

"Sod off, Morrigan," Natia snapped. She cocked her head and held her breath. "I hear... growling?"

"Wait," Alistair squinted and pointed. "It's a mabari. There."

The hound came bounding down the road and barked. Natia reached out and scratched its head. It whined and barked again, and spun around, hackles raised.

Alistair stiffened. "Wait, we're not alone… darkspawn!"

An arrow _whooshed_ past Daveth's ear and a small band of hurlocks appeared on the horizon. He cursed as he fumbled for his bow. He loosed an arrow and caught a beast in the arm. Natia and Alistair charged at them. Morrigan unleashed a burst of flames as the hurlocks descended on them and the beasts writhed and screamed.

Soon, the beasts were dead, and the hound came bounding toward them again and jumped excitedly around Natia. The dwarf's face softened as the hound pushed its great head against her hand and groaned.

"I think this is the mabari I helped at Ostagar," Natia said.

Daveth rubbed the back of his neck. "I got chased by a mabari once in Denerim. Scary dogs, if you ask me." The hound growled. "Well, I didn't mean you, specifically!"

"He's not scary!" Alistair chuckled. "I think he was looking for you, Natia. It's called imprinting."

"So, he's chosen me?" Natia's face gave way to a smile. "I guess we shouldn't leave him, then."

"You can't seriously be thinking about taking this… thing with us," Morrigan was disgusted.

"Why not? He could be useful." Daveth said with a shrug.

"And yet we still have Alistair."

"Hey!" Alistair whined.

"Stop it, Morrigan," Natia glared at the witch, color rising to her cheeks. Morrigan narrowed her eyes, but stayed silent. "He can come along if he wants to." The hound bounced around, tongue lolling. The witch threw her hands up in the air and stalked ahead.

Daveth smirked. "Well, he's going to need a name."

Natia thought for a moment. "I think I'll call him Leske."

"What's a Leske?" Daveth raised an eyebrow.

"A dog," she grinned, and her dark eyes sparkled mischievously. Daveth couldn't help but grin back.

Alistair cleared his throat. "Look, we should get moving if we want to reach Lothering before sundown."

* * *

Daveth watched as Natia and Morrigan rummaged through crates and suppressed a grin. The dwarf was full of surprises, and letting the bandits go was just one of them. He leaned against the wall and pulled out his small knife, and picked underneath his fingernails.

Alistair walked over to him and sighed. "I can't believe she let them go," he said in a low voice, brow furrowed. "They were bandits! We should have turned them into the authorities."

Daveth glanced at the templar and shrugged. "They were just trying to get by."

"By robbing refugees fleeing from the darkspawn?" Alistair scoffed. "I hardly think that's a noble cause."

"A man's got to take care of his own," Daveth frowned and studied Alistair's face. "I guess you wouldn't understand."

Alistair rubbed his neck and looked at the ground. "I guess not." He turned and looked out at the village of Lothering. "Have you ever been here?"

"Once, after I cut out for Denerim," Daveth nodded, placing his knife back into his belt. "The merchants I hitched a ride with stopped here for supplies. It smelled like shit then, too."

"Oh, is that Lothering?" Alistair laughed. "I thought it was you and I didn't want to hurt your feelings." He looked up and Natia waved them over. "Looks like it's time to go."

Daveth grinned, and they followed the women into the village.

* * *

The templar called Ser Bryant told them of Loghain's lies. Officially, the Grey Wardens were traitors, he said. Murderers.

"You will tell no one you saw us, understand?" Natia said urgently. Ser Bryant nodded and quietly wished them luck.

Daveth felt a bitter taste in his mouth and laughed. He was a Grey Warden, and he was still a wanted man. Some things never changed.

* * *

The red-headed Chantry sister followed them out of the tavern, her robes torn and bloody. She helped them when Loghain's men attacked, and now she wanted to come along.

"Please, let me help you," she pleaded, her blue eyes welling with tears. "The Maker… I _know_ this is what I am supposed to do!" She looked at each of them. No one spoke. "I know it sounds crazy, but I really want to help. Please."

Daveth looked at Natia and shrugged. "She seems harmless enough, and she was pretty impressive with the blade."

"I say we take her along," Alistair said. "We need all the help we can get."

Natia stared at the sister for a moment and grinned. "Fine. But you're going to have to change your clothes."

They were on their way out of the village when they found the qunari in the cage. He barely had enough room to stand. He was a murderer, he said. He was waiting for death, for atonement.

"We could give you some food and water," Daveth said, frowning.

"Tempting," the qunari said slowly. "But… no. I will not last much longer."

"Is this how you want to die?" Natia asked suddenly.

"I would prefer to die on the battlefield with my sword in my hand."

Daveth scratched his chin and glanced at Natia. "We'll be back."

* * *

"We need his help to defeat the Blight," Natia said, her voice low. "Just give us the key, and we'll leave."

The Revered Mother stood up and shook her head violently. "Absolutely not. I cannot let people think that we are aiding the Grey Wardens. And what if the beast kills another family? Their blood will be on my hands just as much as yours."

The dwarf drew herself up and growled. "I think you should reconsider your position. Now."

Morrigan cackled with glee. "Oh, are we threatening priests now? How fun!"

Leliana cried out in protest. "No! You cannot do that!"

"Are you crazy?" Alistair looked appalled. "Mother, please, we – "

"You have the audacity to threaten me, and in a place of worship?" Her face burned red. "I will not stand for this. Leave at once, or I shall call the templars."

Daveth fell to his knees at the Revered Mother's feet. "Mother, forgive me! I never wanted to be a Grey Warden! Please, I beg you… I need your blessing." He clutched at her skirts and sobbed. "Please…"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, child." She pulled herself out of his grip and blessed him. Daveth struggled to his feet, and shoved his hands into his pocket.

"Thank you, Mother," he said thickly. She handed him a handkerchief with pity in her eyes. "Maker watch over you."

Daveth stumbled away from her and made for the door. The others had no choice but to follow. He felt his face pulling into a smile and he covered his face with his hand.

When they were outside, Morrigan turned on him. "Was that little display really necessary?" Her yellow eyes flashed with annoyance and disgust.

Daveth snickered. "No," he said, pulling something out of his pocket. "But I got the key."

The witch smirked and shook her head. Leliana gasped, her face a mixture of shock and anger.

Alistair covered his face with his hand and groaned. "Please tell me you're joking." Daveth shook the key at him and grinned widely. "Oh, Maker…"

And Natia laughed until tears streamed down her face.

* * *

They set up camp in the Bannorn, and sat around the campfire. Alistair and Leliana hadn't spoken to him since Lothering, but Natia hadn't stopped laughing. Even Morrigan had cracked a smile. Daveth chuckled to himself and stretched.

"That was some trick with the priest." Natia sat beside him, her hound close on her heels, and handed him a bowl of grey stew. "You'll have to teach me how to do that. The best I can do is pick locks." She watched him eat for a moment. "Alistair thinks we should head to Redcliffe tomorrow. He knows the arl, whatever that is."

Daveth chewed and swallowed. "The arl is like the leader of the city. Nobility."

"Soddin' nobles," Natia grunted, bringing her flagon to her lips. "Anyway, it's not far, I guess. I don't know how you surfacers stand all this… air." She waved her hands and looked up to the sky. "Those are pretty, though."

"They're called stars," he said. He watched her drink and her eyes flickered over him. Pretty eyes that glittered in the moonlight, with specks of brown and gold, and there was a streak of white in her otherwise black hair. Why hadn't he noticed that before?

"What are you looking at?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Her tattoos danced on her skin when she spoke.

Daveth cleared his throat and felt his face grow hot. "Er, nothing." He shoved another spoonful of stew in his mouth. "Sad about Duncan, eh?"

Natia laid her head on her knees. "Yeah, he seemed like a good man. Alistair's taking it pretty hard. Guess he was like a father to him or something." She leaned down and scratched Leske behind his ears, and the hound groaned. "Were you close to your dad?"

Daveth scoffed and reached for his water. "Only when he thought I needed a beating." He drank deeply and wiped his mouth. "My ma was alright. She died of a cough when I was ten. My old man took it out on me, and I cut out for Denerim as soon as I could. What about your family?"

"My mom started drinking as soon as my dad ran off. She probably doesn't even know I'm gone." Natia tossed a stick into the fire. "And my sister sells her body to keep her alive." She laughed bitterly.

They sat in silence for awhile, listening to the crackling of the flames and the mabari's snoring. Every so often Daveth would steal a glance at her, and at least once he caught her doing the same.

"Well," she said after awhile. "I'm going to sleep for a bit." Natia pushed herself to her feet and disappeared into her tent. The hound sat outside and whined. A moment later she opened the flap. "Well, come on." The hound barked and followed her inside.

Daveth rubbed his brow and his thoughts turned to Jory, the coward. If Loghain's men found out what he was... no, it was best not to think about that. Besides, the knight would have had enough sense to cut out for Highever when he got the chance. At least, he hoped he would. He frowned and watched the flames flicker and climb.

* * *

It took them most of the next day to reach Redcliffe. The once bustling highway was a wasteland, and it gave Daveth pause. It had just been a few months since he was here with Duncan and the knight.

Alistair seemed to grow more agitated the closer they came to the city. Daveth glanced back at him and frowned. Soon, they reached the village, and the castle rose impressively in the distance.

"I need to talk to you all," Alistair blurted suddenly. "I told you how Arl Eamon raised me, right? Well, I'm a bastard and my father was… King Maric."

Daveth burst into laughter and clapped the templar on the back. "Good one, Alistair. You almost had me there."

"I'm not joking," Alistair replied miserably. "My mother was a serving girl at the castle and the Arl took me in as a favor to the king."

Natia looked at Alistair with an odd look on her face. "Why are you telling us this now?"

"I didn't want to tell you at all, but I thought it might come up." Alistair shuffled his feet awkwardly and rubbed his neck. "It never meant anything to me, and I'm certainly not fit to rule. I just… I didn't want it to be a surprise is all." No one moved. "Well, we should get a move on, I guess."

"As you command, my prince," Daveth said with a smirk. Alistair rolled his eyes and walked ahead of the group.

"He does look like King Maric, don't you think?" Leliana whispered excitedly. "I can just imagine him sitting on the throne."

Daveth laughed, and they followed the road into the village.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** First of all, I am really sorry for the delay in updating. It's been a rough few months, and then I didn't really feel like writing. But then the muse hit me! So yay! Huge thanks to sagacious_rage for betaing this monster for me, and all my IRC girls for rooting for me to continue. Promise not to take so long with chapter 7. ~neaira

* * *

Redcliffe Village reeked of smoke, mixed with the sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh. Daveth watched as the townspeople tended to the dead and leaned against the wall of the Chantry. They piled the corpses together and set them on fire. There were no words for the fallen, no prayers said over their bodies. These were the dead that had risen the night before, attacking the village in their mindless rage. A man stepped forward and lit another pyre just as the wind picked up. Daveth gagged on the smoke - it was all he could do not to vomit.

Redcliffe had taken a heavy toll in the weeks prior to their arrival. There had been no sign of life in the castle, no word from the arl, and the village would be lost without help. Bann Teagan had begged them to stay. Daveth had wanted nothing more than to leave. If the village was lost, what was the point? But Natia…

Daveth heaved a sigh and scratched at a bandage on his arm. His body ached with fatigue, and wounds burned and itched from where the monsters had struck him. Morrigan had applied salves to the party's cuts, but without healing magic, the deeper wounds would still take time to mend.

Natia and Morrigan sat on the chantry's steps organizing the various herbs they had collected along the way. Daveth watched as Natia's face twisted into consternation as she studied the herb in her hand.

"It's not deathroot," Natia quirked her head to the side. Daveth watched her eyes narrow. "Elfroot?"

Morrigan glanced at her and allowed herself a smile. "It is, indeed. And how do we tell the difference between elfroot and deathroot?"

"Deathroot is more gnarled looking," Natia replied slowly. "And there are little spines on the roots." She glanced at the witch. Morrigan nodded, satisfied, and gestured for the herb to be placed in the appropriate pile.

Daveth smiled to himself and pushed away from the wall just as the heavy chantry door swung open behind him. Leliana stepped outside, offered a curt nod in his direction, and joined the other women on the steps. She was still angry about the key. Daveth chuckled to himself, and looked toward the lake. He saw the qunari, Sten, approaching with the mabari in tow, his face a permanent scowl.

Leliana cleared her throat. "Bann Teagan has asked to meet us at the windmill shortly. He says he has a plan to get into the castle."

Natia gathered up the unsorted herbs and tied them back up into a neat bundle. "I guess we'd better get going. What a minute…" She scanned the crowd and frowned. "Where's Alistair?"

Daveth realized sheepishly that he hadn't noticed the templar was missing.

Leliana smiled brightly and pushed herself to her feet. "I think I saw him walking toward the tavern. I could get him if you'd like."

Natia grimaced and shook her head. "Leliana, I think Alistair's had enough of you swooning over his being a prince… or bastard. You know what I mean." Daveth saw a faint blush creep to the former sister's cheeks, though she nodded slowly. Natia blew her breath out through pursed lips. "Daveth, could you check the tavern for Alistair?"

"Anything for you," Daveth said with a wink. "Don't miss me too much."

Natia rolled her eyes, though a smile played on her lips, and he made his way to the tavern. He passed an elderly woman sobbing quietly as she clutched a tattered rag doll to her breast. To his left he saw a mother and her two young children sitting on the ground, tears clearing paths on dirt strewn faces. He averted his gaze and quickened his pace, straining against the steep incline of the hill.

The tavern was perched atop yet another hill. Daveth chuckled to himself thinking about the various drunks who had undoubtedly rolled out of the tavern, quite literally, after a night of too much liquor.

Daveth entered the tavern and allowed his eyes to adjust to the light. He saw Alistair, brooding in the corner, with a pint sitting in front of him. A pretty woman with red hair emerged from behind the counter.

"Bella, sweetheart!" Daveth grinned at her, arms extended as if to embrace her. "Glad to see you're still around."

"Welcome back, darling," she smiled warmly, and came toward him. "Anything I can get you? Not much on the menu, I'm afraid, but I've still got some ale on tap."

"How about a kiss," he tried. Bella rolled her eyes. "No? Alright, I'll take a pint off the tap, then."

Bella disappeared into the backroom and Daveth walked over to where Alistair sat. He sat down and eyed the templar's untouched mug. Alistair barely acknowledged his presence, and the two sat in silence. Bella brought Daveth his ale and he brought the mug to his lips, taking a deep drink.

"You all right, your highness?" Daveth asked, his mug still at the ready.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "You know, if you could just keep on thinking of me as the same old useless idiot I was before, that would be great."

"My opinion probably isn't worth much, but I don't think you're either of those things." Daveth shrugged lazily. "But, if it makes you feel any better, I'll just call you 'Alistair.'" He took another drink. "So, you want to tell me what's bothering you?"

Alistair regarded him for a moment. "It's just, when people find out who I am, I'm not Alistair anymore. And now Arl Eamon is sick, and we don't even know if anyone is still alive. I mean, he's the closest thing I had to a father, I guess. I just needed some time alone."

Daveth nodded and drained the rest of his ale. "Look, Bann Teagan wants us to meet him at the windmill. He's got some sort of plan to get into the castle." He stood up and hesitated. "We'll find out what happened in there."

* * *

Daveth walked with Alistair, Natia and Morrigan to the windmill. Natia had thought it best to leave at least some of their party in the village, to give them villagers some sense of protection. Daveth wasn't sure how at ease the townspeople would feel with a hulking qunari nearby. They reached the crest of the hill, and Bann Teagan glanced over his shoulder at them for a moment.

"Odd how quiet the castle looks from here," Teagan said softly. He stood facing the castle, a sword and shield strapped to his back, though he still wore his brightly colored silks instead of armor. "You'd think there was nobody inside at all."

"There probably isn't," Daveth murmured, knowing the bann could not hear him. Natia jabbed him sharply with an elbow, and he winced.

The bann turned to face them, and Daveth saw the dark circles under the nobleman's eyes. He shifted uncomfortably and fiddled with the strap on his pack.

"I had a plan to get into the castle after the village was secure," Bann Teagan began, his expression solemn. "There is a secret passage here, in the mill, accessible only to my family."

"Convenient that you did not see fit to mention this before," Morrigan said, smirking. She folded her arms across her chest and eyed the bann suspiciously.

Teagan shot a look at the witch, and sighed. "I knew that you would choose to enter the castle instead of staying in the village, and we needed help defending ourselves against those monsters... Maker's breath!"

Daveth watched as Teagan's focus shifted suddenly to something behind the group. He turned and saw a young woman dressed in the fine clothes of a noble and a castle guard racing down the path. Her hair was pulled back into an intricate bun.

"Teagan!" the woman cried in an Orlesian accent once she had reached them. Daveth looked her over and realized that she was much older than he had guessed. "Thank the Maker you yet live!"

"Isolde! You're alive!" Teagan's face crumpled into a mixture of relief and confusion. "I don't understand, how... what happened?"

"I do not have time to explain," Isolde replied hastily, shaking her head. "I slipped away from the castle as soon as the battle was over, and I must return quickly." She hesitated for a moment. "And... I need you to return with me, Teagan. Alone."

"I think we're going to need a little more information," Natia cut in, a small frown playing on her lips.

"What!" Isolde gasped, suddenly aware of her audience, and snapped her head toward the dwarf, anger flashing across her face. "Who is this _dwarf_, Teagan?"

Daveth noticed the way Isolde sneered as she put emphasis on the word dwarf, and realized Natia hadn't missed it either. The color had quickly risen to her cheeks, and he could tell she was biting her tongue.

Alistair groaned to himself and stepped forward. "You remember me, Lady Isolde, don't you?"  
"Alistair." Isolde said in a low voice as she narrowed her eyes. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Isolde, they are Grey Wardens," Teagan cut in, placing a hand over his heart. "I owe them my life."

Isolde turned stiffly toward the group once more. "I apologize. I would exchange pleasantries, but considering the circumstances..."

"Please, Lady Isolde," Alistair pleaded sadly, and for a moment, Daveth thought he seemed like a little boy waiting to be acknowledged. "We didn't even know if anyone was alive in the castle. We need answers!"

The four listened as Isolde explained that some evil force had overtaken the castle. Many had died, and risen once more to attack the village each night. Her husband, Arl Eamon was alive, but unconscious, and whatever evil force that had been unleashed was threatening to kill their son.

"It was the mage," she nearly whispered, bringing a hand to her face. "He must have brought this evil on us!"

"What mage, Isolde?" Teagan asked, exasperated.

"Connor's tutor! This all began after he began working with him!"

"Wait, why are you having a mage tutor Connor?" Alistair cut in, raising an eyebrow.

"Connor was... showing signs," Isolde nearly whispered, and her face fell.

"Connor is a mage?" Teagan raised his voice, the shock written all over his face. "Does my brother know?"

"Of course not! If he knew, Connor would have already been sent to the tower! I couldn't let him take my baby from me. It's not his fault!" Isolde clutched her skirts and nearly bawled. "Teagan, please! We must return to the castle. They'll kill Connor!"

Teagan shook his head suddenly and squared his jaw. "Isolde, I will return to the castle with you. Give me a moment to speak with the Wardens."

"Bless you, Teagan! Please, hurry!"

Teagan turned back to the group and pulled a large ring from his finger. He held it out to Natia, and dropped it into her palm. "This ring is the key you will need to enter the tunnels. I am asking you to enter the castle from below, while I return with Isolde. Eamon is the priority. I leave this in your hands now."

With that, Teagan turned on his heel and ran up the hill back to the castle with Isolde and the castle guard.

Natia eyed the ring in her hand and looked up at the others. "I guess we're going into the castle."

They entered the mill and Daveth spied a dusty old chest in a corner. He moved swiftly toward it and tried to pop the lock open. It wouldn't budge. Natia fell in by his side looked over the lock, and nodded. "That's an easy one," she began. "If you have the right tools."

Daveth raised an eyebrow and watched as she placed a hand under her armor and between her breasts – and pulled out a metal pin. She grabbed his hand, placing the pin between his thumb and forefinger.

"Now, you ease it into the lock, gently, there you go," she said, guiding his hand as she spoke. "You feel those friction points? Just a quick turn of the wrist here, at just the right point, and you're done."

Daveth flicked his wrist and heard the satisfying click of the lock giving way, and suddenly aware of the fact that Natia still had hold of his hand. They locked eyes, and once again he felt himself appreciating the flecks of gold that sparkled in her irises, the subtle upward curve of her lips, the tattoos that graced her face…

"Are you two quite finished?" Morrigan said, clearing her throat. Alistair was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot next to the witch, focusing on everything but the two rogues. Natia pulled her hand away and pushed herself to her feet.

Alistair, moved awkwardly to the cellar door and pulled it open, and the four descended into the tunnels below.

"You know, I locked myself in a cage once," Alistair said as they walked through the tunnels. Noticing the looks the others gave him, he hurried on. "When I was a boy!" He added quickly. "Anyway, it was for a whole day. Good times."

The clang of metal on metal grabbed everyone's attention. Daveth heard a faint call of, "Help!" from the other side of a heavy door. They ran through the door and found a group of walking corpses gathered in front of some holding cells.

"Please! Help us!" a voice cried from one of the cells.

"Hey! Over here!" Daveth roared, diverting the corpses' attention to his well-armed party. The monsters hissed and ran toward them, clawing and slashing their weapons wildly. The corpses went down quickly, and a mournful sob echoed through the hall.

"Oh, Maker's breath, would you stop that?" the same voice snapped from a cell.

The four approached the cells and came first upon a mage, his robes torn and dirty. While Natia began talking to him, Daveth moved down to the next cell. A pitiful figure was curled into a ball on the dirty cell floor, rocking gently back and forth. A large, sad pair of eyes stared back at him, and after a moment, Daveth gasped.

He stood there, mouth agape, and after a moment, began shaking his head in disbelief. Natia shot him a quizzical look, and he began to laugh.

"Ser Knight!" he said finally, when he'd composed himself once more. "Fancy meeting you here."

Jory stared back at him, and he opened and closed his mouth several times before he was able to speak. "Oh, Maker, I thought you were dead!"

"Well, I'm not, no thanks to you." Daveth smirked, folding his arms across his chest. "So, Ser Knight, what did you do to end up in here? Dishonor some poor farmer's daughter?" When the color started rising to Jory's cheeks, he shook his head. "Oh, I know, you'd never do that. What are you doing here, Jory?"

"Loghain's army stopped outside here after Ostagar," Jory began in a shaky voice. "And… I decided to leave them so I could make for Highever, to see my wife." Daveth nodded, urging him to continue. "I ran into some knights from Redcliffe, but they must have joined after I left with Duncan, and they thought I was a deserter!"

"You are a deserter," Daveth replied, rubbing his eyes. "Oh, Ser Knight, what are we going to do with you?" He walked over to the others. "What's the story with this guy?"

"His name's Jowan, and he's a blood mage," Natia began, and relayed all of the information that Jowan had supplied. "He says he's not responsible for what happened here."

"I'm not, I swear it!" Jowan piped in, his hands wrapped tightly around the wrought iron bars that caged him. "I would do anything to make this right again, just give me a chance!"

"I don't know if we can trust him," Alistair said with a frown. "He seems honest enough, but… he's a _maleficar_…"

"So, instead we leave him imprisoned?" Morrigan cut in, nostrils flaring. "I say we let him go."

Daveth leaned heavily against the wall and cleared his throat. "We can't just let him go. He could be lying."

Natia bit her lip and thought for a moment. "We're going to have to leave you in there for now, Jowan."

Jowan's face fell, but he nodded. "I understand. I really just want to make things right. I'll wait here."

The four began walking through the dungeon when Jory cried out to them.

"What about me?" the knight whimpered, stumbling to his feet.

"Oh, I think we'll let you sit in here for awhile longer, Ser Knight," Daveth said after a pause. He watched as Jory fell back to the ground, defeated, and they made their way into the castle.

Corpses and demons stalked the halls of the castle, and it seemed as though no living souls remained. The corpses wore the clothing they had in life. They were the cooks, the servants, the scribe, the guards. Their skin was mottled and decaying, their eyes clouded over. They attacked blindly, and died with cries that were no longer human. The group cut their way through the castle, making sure to rid each room of the monsters.

Soon they found themselves in the courtyard, surrounded by corpses, and a voice called to them from outside the castle gates. It was Ser Perth, one of the knights they had met the day before, and he had brought with him reinforcements.

Daveth and Natia exchanged glances and Daveth took off running toward the gate. He was halfway there when he heard Natia scream his name.

The ground began to quake beneath him and he found himself encased in a tomb of gnarled roots. They pressed against him and he felt the air rush out of him. He was trapped, unable to move. The roots squeezed tighter and tighter, and he couldn't breathe. He gasped and struggled in vain. He knew he was going to die.

Suddenly the roots gave way and he fell to the ground, gasping for air. His chest ached from the pressure, and looked around him. Alistair had made it to the gate and Ser Perth and his knights had taken down the rest of the corpses. An armor-clad demon fell to ground, after a powerful burst of flame had exploded around it, and Natia was running toward him.

"Are you alright?" Natia asked him. Daveth nodded, and winced at the pain that coursed through his body. Morrigan jogged over to them, rifling through her pack.

"'Twas a revenant, if you are curious," the witch said as she uncorked a potion. "My dear mother told me many stories about them, though this was the first I've met." She handed him the potion and waited for him to finish. "We'll need to bandage your ribs, but you should live."

Daveth struggled to his feet and walked gingerly as they walked cautiously toward the castle door. The knights entered first, pushing open the heavy door and swords held out at the ready. The others followed and the heavy door creaked shut behind them. The castle was eerily quiet, and Daveth shuddered despite himself.

The sound of laughter broke through the silence and the group exchanged wary glances before heading into the main hall. Daveth saw a boy, probably no older than thirteen, surrounded by guards. Bann Teagan danced wildly before the child, and the boy clapped and hooted with glee. If it weren't for the fact that there were dead bodies strewn about the room, it would have seemed like harmless fun. There was something wrong.

"It's the boy," Natia whispered, and Daveth felt the dread building in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

Lady Isolde sobbed as the last of the guards fell to the ground. Connor – or the demon possessing him – had considerable power, and ordered an attack on the outsiders. The boy had disappeared during the fight.

"You cannot hurt my baby," the arlessa choked as she hugged herself. "My Connor is still in there! It's why he ran away. Fighting scares him."

"Isolde, this is your doing," Bann Teagan hissed. "If you had told Eamon about Connor's… condition, none of this would have happened. The boy is as good as dead."

"'Tis true," Morrigan agreed. "The easiest way to rid one of a demon is to kill the host."

"No!" Isolde cried, struggling to her feet. "The mage! Does he yet live? Maybe he can help us!"

Natia shifted uncomfortably and nodded. "Both of the prisoners are alive. We left them in the dungeon."

Alistair cleared his throat. "I don't know if we can trust the mage."

"That is not your decision to make, Alistair." Isolde narrowed her eyes at him and turned Teagan, pleading. "We must talk to the mage. Please, Teagan, I beg of you!"

Teagan regarded the arlessa with disgust, but nodded after a moment. "I will get him, Isolde, but if he makes any move against me, I will not hesitate to kill him." The bann left the main hall and returned shortly with Jowan and Jory in tow. Jory shuffled in behind Daveth and Teagan pushed Jowan to the center of the floor.

"There is a ritual," Jowan began, nervously shifting his weight from side to side. "I could send another mage into the Fade, and they would need to confront the demon directly. It's the only way to save Connor's life."

"Then we do it!" Isolde replied shrilly. "The Wardens have a mage with them!"

"Well…" Jowan hesitated, and looked to the floor. "The ritual takes a lot of power… it requires a blood sacrifice. A death. Someone else would have to give up their life to save Connor."

"Blood magic," Alistair spat, shaking his head in anger. "We can't possibly be considering this."

Daveth nodded in agreement. "I've had my fill of dark rituals, thank you very much. There's got to be a better way."

"If we had more mages and lyrium, we could send someone into the Fade," Morrigan offered, as she adjusted a ring on her finger. "However, we have neither. We would either have to travel to the Circle Tower and pray those fools will help us, do this ritual, or kill the boy."

"I won't let you hurt him!" Isolde said evenly. She seemed to have composed herself. "If someone has to die, it will be me. I will be the sacrifice."

"Are you ready to die, Lady Isolde?" Natia said quietly, her dark eyes staring intently at the arlessa.

"Wait a minute, you can't be serious!" Daveth waved his hands desperately. "Couldn't we go to the Tower and find other mages?"

"And what happens if we leave, Daveth? The boy goes crazy again and more people die?" Natia squared her jaw and drew herself up. "It's either this or we kill the boy. I don't want that blood on my hands."

Daveth choked in a breath and faltered. Alistair opened his mouth to speak, but remained silent. Natia stared at the two intently before turning back to Jowan. "Do the ritual, Jowan."

"I'll start the preparations," he said quietly, and began collecting candles from around the room. Soon he had created a circle and beckoned for the arlessa to stand in center. She walked shakily and fell to her knees, clutching at a medallion around her neck. The woman prayed as Jowan began chanting in a low, even tone.

Daveth watched as sparks began to shoot up from the floor, faster and faster and his heart thudded madly against his ribs. The light encased the arlessa and pulsed rhythmically like the blood through a vein.

Suddenly Jowan let out a roar and Lady Isolde screamed in pain. He roared once more and the arlessa's body flew into the air, blood pouring out of her chest and mouth. She hung suspended in the air as her life blood left her. And then the blood stopped pumping, and her body fell to the ground in a broken heap. Daveth heard a clatter of metal behind him and realized Jory had passed out from shock. Another thud in front of him caught his attention, and Morrigan fell to the ground.

"She's entering the Fade now," Jowan said thickly. "Maker watch over her."

They waited in silence, staring at Morrigan's limp form on the ground. Alistair drew his sword and waited nearby, ready to strike if the witch failed.

Eventually, Morrigan stirred and she opened her eyes. A hush fell over the room and she pushed herself to her feet.

"The boy is free," she said weakly.

Daveth found himself staring once more at the arlessa's body and swallowed hard. "Maker watch over us all."


	7. Chapter 7

Daveth woke with a start, sweat dripping down his face. Between the nightmares and Jory's snoring, he was surprised he had been able to fall sleep at all. He glanced over at the knight, and shook his head. He had managed to convince Bann Teagan to release Jory into their custody, somehow. Though, now that he thought about it, he wasn't even sure why he did it. Suddenly, a voice broke through the silence and Daveth's eyes shot open once more.

_"You let Lady Isolde die! With blood magic. How could you?"_

Daveth blinked, and rubbed his eyes, unsure if he had really heard anything at all. But then, another voice rose above the silence and he pushed himself up.

"What's going on?" Jory mumbled sleepily, his sad eyes peering out from under the heavy wool blanket Daveth had given him.

"That's what I'm going to find out," Daveth said as he pulled on his boots and slipped out of the tent.

Alistair and Natia stood glaring at each other on the other side of the camp, red-faced. Alistair gestured forcefully as he spoke. Natia crossed her arms tightly across her chest, jaw clenched.

"We could have gone to the mages for help," Alistair scowled, staring her down. "We could have tried harder. We could have done it without resorting to blood magic, that's for damn sure."

Natia's expression held firm. "We did the best we could, Alistair."

"Don't you _dare_ tell me that was the best we could do," Alistair yelled, bending down toward her so his face inches from hers. "You weren't the one that had to help tell a little boy that his mother was dead.

"I think we all need to calm d-" Daveth said, attempting to step between them.

"Stay out of it, Daveth," Natia snapped, pushing him away. Daveth stepped backward clumsily and looked around. Leliana stood outside of her tent, looking unsure of what to do. Morrigan slipped next to her and crossed her arms, frowning slightly. Sten stood silent in the shadows, and looked ready to step in at a moment's notice. Even Jory had ventured out of the tent, watching cautiously from a distance.

"What, so we were supposed to kill the kid instead?" Natia asked Alistair after a moment, nostrils flaring. "Or, just leave and hope he didn't kill everyone in the village before we got back?"

"No!" Alistair's ear reddened and he faltered. "I don't know. I just don't know how we're going to explain this to the Arl."

"Maybe he'll see that there was more at stake here," Natia frowned, trying to gain composure.

The pair stared each other down in silence, breathing, thinking. Alistair's expression softened, and he slumped down to the ground, cradling his head in his hands.

"Maker's breath, I'm an arse," he groaned wearily. "I haven't exactly been the model Warden here, and I've let you all make the decisions. I just... I don't know what to say."

"Forget it," Natia said quietly, holding a hand out to him. "We're good." Alistair took her hand and nodded.

Daveth felt himself relax. "Well, that was fun!" He flashed a grin, mostly for his own benefit.

"Sod off," Natia muttered, shooting a glance at him, and then stalked off into the forest. Daveth gawked at her and threw his hands up in the air and began pacing.

The normal chatter of camp slowly resumed and Daveth paced, looking in the direction that she had gone. Whispers and nervous laughter floated into his ears and he ran his hand through his hair.

Jory walked up to him slowly. "What just happened? Wait! Where are you going?" Daveth had begun walking toward the treeline.

"To find out what the hell that was about," Daveth said through his teeth.

* * *

She was quick. He lost track of her almost as soon as he passed through the treeline. He stumbled over a branch and cursed, unsure of why he was even doing this, and strained to see any sign of her. Pausing for a moment, he wiped the sweat off of his brow. He heard the crackle of leaves somewhere nearby, to his left. He followed the direction of the sound and found her, pacing.

"You mind telling me what that was all about?" Daveth asked, stalking toward her. She stopped and turned to face him.

"Sod off," she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest.

"'Sod off,'" he echoed, deadpan, shaking his head. "You sure have a funny way of answering questions."

"I didn't need your help," she snapped. "I can take care of things myself. I don't need people protecting me."

"I wasn't trying to protect_ you_," he smiled ruefully, taking a step toward her. "I was worried for Alistair's safety. He's a puppy dog, you know."

She regarded him for a moment, her face still as stone. Suddenly, she growled and lunged at him, arms outstretched. She caught him in the chest and he fell backward, landing squarely on his ass. He stared up at her, his arms splayed out awkwardly behind him struggling to keep himself upright. She stared back and him, and then she was on him, pressing her mouth against his, forcing his lips apart. He felt her arms around his neck, her hands grabbing at his hair, and he groaned against her. He shifted and pulled an arm around her waist, bringing her closer, and pulled his other hand to her face, tracing the line of the brand on her cheek.

Natia tensed and pulled away suddenly. "I'm sorry." She met his eyes briefly and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Natia…" he said softly, moving to pull her toward him. She shrugged out of his touch and hopped to her feet. She glanced at him again and stumbled back toward the camp. He watched after her, and whistled softly to himself.

* * *

"How much farther to Denerim?" Jory asked as he sucked the last of his water from his leather flagon.

"Two days, give or take," Daveth said with a yawn. It was getting late, and they'd be setting up camp soon.

Jory nodded slowly and thought for a moment. "Do you think we'll really find the ashes?"

Daveth snorted. "Do you? We may as well be looking for griffons."

Alistair fell into step with them. "Did someone say griffons? I want a griffon. That would be _awesome_."

Daveth laughed, and looked further up the road at Natia. It had been days since she'd said more than a few words to him. She'd look at him, as if she expected him to say something to her, but he'd just smile, and Natia would turn red. It was a game of sorts, and Daveth considered himself an expert. He'd certainly played it enough, he thought with a smirk. The baker's daughter, that washerwoman, and that cute handmaiden at the Pearl…

"Daveth?" Alistair snapped his fingers in front of the rogue's face. "Hel-lo?"

Daveth jarred himself back to reality and cleared his throat. "What?"

"We're stopping for camp," Alistair quirked an eyebrow.

The make-shift stew had just started to boil when Leske jumped to his feet and growled, and set everyone on alert. A woman had spotted them and veered off the main road. She ran toward them, calling out.

"Help!" she cried. "Please! Bandits… the wagon! Oh, Maker, please!"

"Bandits? How many?" Alistair leapt to his feet and picked up his sword and shield.

"I don't know!" The woman panted, eyes wild. "Too many for us, but we're no warriors. Please, help us! My husband was injured and…" she began to sob and fell to her knees.

Natia sheathed her blades. "Morrigan, we need you." The witch rolled her eyes and grabbed her staff. Sparks flew off the end of it at her touch. "Leliana, stay here at camp with Jory. Let's go."

The woman scrambled to her feet and led them down the road. A wagon lay overturned, dead oxen littered the clearing. But there were no bodies, no sign of struggle. It was all too perfect. A blonde elf stepped out from behind the wagon and smirked. He gestured silently and in the blink of an eye, they were surrounded.

The woman turned on her heel and slashed a knife at Alistair, just missing his arm.

"Bloody hell!" Alistair cried out as he knocked her down with his shield. "It's a trap!"

"The Grey Wardens die here!" the elf yelled, his accent betraying him as Antivan. Daveth had met a few in Denerim.

"Son of a nughumper!" Natia cursed, pulling out her blades as she charged forward.

Daveth snorted a laugh and let his arrows fly.

* * *

"I don't trust him," Daveth said quietly as they walked along the banks of the Drakon River. They were less than half a day from Denerim. They'd reach the city gates before nightfall if they kept their pace.

Alistair grunted in agreement. "I don't, either. What is she thinking, bringing along an assassin? It's not as if we needed any more 'lurking in the shadows' types… er, no offense."

"We'll just have to watch him is all," Daveth replied evenly.

Alistair nodded and looked at his feet as he walked. "So, er… I was wondering if you might help me do something. In Denerim."

Daveth cocked his head toward the templar and quirked an eyebrow.

"There's a woman in Denerim that I want to see," Alistair said slowly.

"A woman?" Daveth slapped Alistair on the back and laughed. "You dog! I didn't know you had it in you."

"What?" Alistair looked surprised before waving his hands wildly. "No! It's not like that! It's my sister. Well, half-sister, really, on my mother's side. I don't know if she even knows about me, but with the Blight coming, I just wanted to go talk to her, you know?"

Daveth scratched the back of his head and glanced at Alistair. "Why me?"

"Well, we're friends, right?" Alistair shrugged. "And you're pretty much the only one I've got."

Daveth felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "Alright, I'll go."

They walked on for awhile, listening to the low murmur of their companions further up the road. Birds called to one another in the distance, and Leske sometimes barked a response. Daveth watched Natia as she walked, her hips swaying dangerously beneath her armor. "Duster armor" she had called it. He felt a heat rising in him as he remembered the feel of her lips, the warmth of her skin against his own.

"Something on your mind?" Alistair asked. "You're a million miles away."

"Hm? Oh, just… thinking," Daveth said after a pause, the ghost of a grin playing on his face.

* * *

The sun had just begun to set when they reached the gates of Denerim. The heavy doors stood open, revealing the streets that had been Daveth's home for so many years.

He inhaled deeply and sighed. "Nothing beats the smell of the city!"

"It smells of garbage and wet dog," Sten rumbled in his usual way, taking in the view of the city. "You find this pleasing?"

Daveth chuckled and looked up at the Qunari. "Part of the charm, is all."

"Ah yes," Zevran strode up beside him. "There is nothing more satisfying than the stench of a city. Except for real Antivan leather." He winked at Daveth and stretched his arms above his head. "Shall we?"

"Any place we can stay that might have a bed or two?" Natia asked, brushing her hair away from her face.

"There's a few inns we could try, and the tavern has some rooms," Daveth supplied. "We could try the Pearl, too, but you're paying for a different kind of service there. Probably get a good night's sleep, though."

Zevran laughed, and Alistair chuckled nervously. Always the Chantry boy, Daveth though.

"Let's find some place to stay, and then find this Brother Genitivi," Natia said as she tightened a strap on her boots. "I don't know about you, but I'm soddin' tired of sleeping on the ground."

They walked through the gates and found themselves in the market district. Daveth looked around and smirked. How long had it been since he'd last been here? Months, at least. Months since he was nothing more than a street urchin, fighting to survive day by day. He swallowed back a bitter taste in his mouth and watched as the women headed into the heart of the market, Leliana squealing with delight at the various fabrics and smells that swirled around her.

"We should head to the tavern," Daveth said. "See if we can scrounge up some rooms."

The men walked through the market and headed toward the tavern, each of them eager for at least one night's rest in a proper bed.

Daveth paused and adjusted the strap on his pack. He'd just taken a step forward when he felt the firm grip of a hand on his shoulder.

"Daveth," a stern voice boomed from behind.

"Well, hello, Sergeant Kylon," Daveth smiled ruefully. "Fancy meeting you here."

* * *

**AN:** _Big thanks to sagacious_rage for the beta, and a sounding board for the insane ideas I come up with. You'll see what I'm talking about in chapter 8. ;) Thanks for reading! ~neaira  
_


	8. Chapter 8

Sergeant Kylon's face was unreadable as Daveth nervously regarded the lawman. Daveth thought the sergeant looked a little older than the last time he'd seen him. His hair was graying, and the wrinkles around his mouth were more pronounced. After a moment, Kylon released his grip from Daveth's shoulder and held his hands behind his back.

"You're looking well," Kylon said shortly, the corner of his mouth twitched downward. "Still with the Grey Wardens, I presume?"

"I am," Daveth swallowed hard. The Wardens were considered traitors, which meant he was still a wanted man. "You, er, planning on doing something about that, ser?"

Kylon snorted a laugh. "If I asked my men to apprehend you, they'd all run and cry big, sobby tears in their courtesan's bosoms and leave me all alone to be skewered." The sergeant smiled bitterly and sniffed.

Daveth blew out a breath and looked around nervously. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a blur of movement, and then there was a hand on his arm. Natia cocked her head at him questioningly. Daveth shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head toward the sergeant.

"Is there a problem here?" Natia asked casually, training her eyes on Kylon.

"Another Warden?" Kylon brought a hand up to his chin and the hint of a frown played on his face. "I knew Duncan for a long time. Long enough to know that he'd have never betrayed the king."

Natia put a hand on Daveth's arm, eying the sergeant suspiciously. "You mind getting to the point?"

"I've got work, if you're interested," Kylon said after a pause, shooting a glance at some of his guards standing watch behind him. "Maker knows I can't rely on those slobs to get anything done. They might get dirty, or stub their toes, and then they'll go crying to their noble daddies."

"What sort of work?" Natia asked. Daveth kept his eyes on the ground.

Kylon looked down at the dwarf and crossed his arms. "A group of mercenaries are causing some problems at a local… er, _establishment_. I need you to go in there and get them out, civilly. No bloodshed, do you hear me?"

"What's the pay?" Natia asked evenly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I've got a bit of a fund I can tap in to," Kylon began, brow furrowed. "If you get the job done right, that is."

"We'll think about it," Natia sniffed. She cocked her head at Daveth. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Daveth turned to walk away and Kylon grabbed hold of his shoulder once more. Daveth felt the breath catch in his throat and his pulse quicken.

"Stay out of trouble, Daveth," Kylon said in a low voice. "If I so much as glimpse you with your eyes on someone else's purse, I will not hesitate to send you to the gallows, Grey Warden or no. Are we clear?"

"C-crystal, ser," Daveth choked out.

"Good," the sergeant said, shoving him away. Kylon turned on his heel and walked back through the market. He barked something unintelligible to a couple of his guardsmen, and they scrambled to fall into step with him.

Daveth swallowed back the lump in his throat as he watched them disappear into the crowd.

"Soddin' authorities," Natia muttered, glaring at Kylon's back until he was out of view. She turned back to Daveth after a moment and quirked an eyebrow. "Old friend?"

"You could say that," Daveth said, as they started making their way through the market. "You just happen to be in the company of Denerim's finest cutpurse, and that was one of Denerim's finest."

Natia gave him a crooked smile. "And now you're a soddin' Grey Warden."

"Takes all kinds, I guess," Daveth said, grinning back, and they headed back toward the tavern.

* * *

Daveth stretched out and yawned, straining to enjoy the comfort of the pillowed mattress he'd slept on the night before. He sat up in the bed and rubbed at his eyes before forcing himself to his feet. He used the washbasin and cloth to clean himself a bit and regarded himself in the mirror hanging on the wall. He almost didn't recognize the man staring back him.

Same eyes, same face. He needed a haircut and a shave… but there was something different about him somehow. He furrowed his brow and moved closer to the mirror, peering at his reflection.

"Well, now I can see why she likes you," a voice lilted from behind.

"Maker's blood," Daveth yelped, jumping backward in surprise and spinning around. "Leliana? What in the… oh, bloody hell." He looked down and realized he'd been standing in his smallclothes and little else.

"Relax, Daveth," Leliana giggled, averting her gaze. "It's nothing I haven't seen before. But Natia asked me to tell you that we're going to Brother Genitivi's. Alistair said you and he have some business to take care of, and Zevran and Sten are going out to the Pearl to do that job for Sergeant Kylon. We'll all meet back here later."

"Fine," Daveth said as he pulled up his pants and buckled them at the waist. "Next time, could you give a guy a little warning?"

"Oh, but this was so much more fun, don't you think?" Leliana said with a wink as she left the room.

Daveth strapped on the rest of his armor and buckled his boots and headed out to the lobby of the tavern. Alistair was leaning against the counter, watching as Leliana and Natia slipped outside. The templar's gaze lingered on the door for a moment, before shaking himself to attention.

"She's something else, that one," Daveth nudged Alistair's arm and grinned.

"Who, Leliana?" Alistair's cheeks flushed and he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, she's… er, we should go find my sister's house. I think it's nearby."

They walked out into the market and Alistair pulled a slip of paper out of his pack. He studied it with a frown and looked around.

"Do you know where '16 Market Square' is?" Alistair squinted up at the building number on the tavern.

Daveth nodded. "It's over this way, near Wade's Emporium."

Daveth began to walk and Alistair scrambled to fall into step with him. The templar was nervous, that much was obvious. He kept glancing down at the address scribbled on his piece of paper and frowning. After a few minutes, they reached the house and Daveth tilted his head toward the door.

"This is it," Daveth said. "You want me to come in with you?"

Alistair nodded sheepishly. "If you wouldn't mind, I just… maybe this isn't even a good idea. What if she doesn't want to talk to me? What if she doesn't believe me? Oh, Maker, we should just leave." He turned to go.

"Or," Daveth began as he grabbed hold of Alistair's shoulders and pushed him toward the door. "You could go in and say what you need to say."

Alistair knocked on the door and turned the knob, and the pair entered the house. It was small and tidy, and the smell of laundry soap hung in the air.

"Er, hello?" Alistair called out nervously, shifting his weight from side to side. "G-Goldanna?"

"Did you just say 'Goldanna'?" Daveth did a double-take and felt a cold sweat beading on his brow, before allowing himself to relax. There had to be more than one Goldanna in Denerim.

"Eh, you have linens to wash?" a voice called out from the back. "I charge three bits to a bundle, and you won't find better!"

Daveth groaned inwardly. He knew that voice.

"And don't trust what the Natalia woman tells you either, she's for-" Goldanna stepped into the foyer and stopped, her eyes resting on Daveth. "_You_. You've got a lot of nerve showing your face in here!"

"Hello, Goldie," Daveth grinned nervously. "You're looking as lovely as ever."

"Wait, you two know each other?" Alistair looked back and forth between Daveth and Goldanna, eyebrows raised.

"Better than I'd like to admit," Goldanna laughed bitterly and folded her arms across her chest. "Hope you ate well with that money you took, you bastard. You've got a lot of nerve showing your face in my house."

"You _robbed_ her?" Alistair raised his voice before covering his face with his hands.. "Bloody hell, this isn't going how I expected."

"You mind telling me why you're here?" Goldanna spat, beady eyes boring into him.

"Look," Alistair sighed and took a step forward. "My name is Alistair, and I'm... well, I'm your brother."

"My what?" Goldanna scoffed, snapping her head back to Alistair. "Did he put you up to this?" She pointed accusingly at Daveth.

"No!" Alistair frowned and shook his head. "Our mother worked at Redcliffe Castle a long time ago, before she died. Did you know about that? She-"

"They told me you was dead," Goldanna broke in quietly, her voice rising in volume with every word.. "They told me the babe was dead along with Mother, but I knew they was lying!"

Alistair's face twisted up in confusion. "They told you I was dead? Who?"

"Thems at the castle!" Goldanna answered shrilly. "I told them the babe was the king's but told me he was dead. Gave me a coin to shut me up, and sent me on my way."

"I'm sorry," Alistair said quietly. "I didn't know that. But... the babe didn't die. I'm him. Your brother."

"For all the good it does me!" Goldanna scoffed and advanced on the templar. "You killed Mother and I've had to scrape by all this time. That coin didn't last long, and when I went back they ran me off."

"Goldie, just calm down," Daveth tried to put a hand on her shoulder, but she smacked his hand away.

"Don't you call me that!" Goldanna shrieked at him, before turning back to Alistair. "You can't march in here with your fancy armor and _him_ and expect a warm welcome. I've got five mouths to feed, and unless you are planning on helping out with that, I've got nothing to say to the likes of you."

"We're Grey Wardens, Goldanna," Daveth shrugged. "We've got no extra coin lying about."

"Surely we could spare something," Alistair dug into his coinpurse and held out some sovereigns to Goldanna. "Here, take this. I want to help if I can."

"You must think I'm very stupid," Goldanna said bitterly. "A prince and a Grey Warden, and you expect me to believe that's all you have to offer? Get out of my house, boy." She advanced on Daveth and slapped him across the face. "And _you_, if I ever see you again, I'll cut off that thing between your legs."

Alistair and Daveth hurried out of the door and stood in the market. Alistair's arms hung limply by his sides.

"That... didn't go like I expected," Alistair said sadly, glancing at the door. "I was expecting her to just accept me without question. Isn't that was family is supposed to do? And you _robbed_ her? What were you thinking?"

"Look," Daveth hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "You were brought up in the Chantry. It's a different world out here, and people do what they got to do to survive. People are just out for themselves, Alistair. You've got to learn that."

Alistair was quiet for a long time, lost in the sea of people at the marketplace. Daveth kept an eye out for pickpockets. "Let's just go," Alistair said finally. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

* * *

"So, how exactly did you get those mercenaries to leave the Pearl?" Alistair asked as they walked the road toward Lake Calenhad.

Zevran chuckled. "It turned out to be very easy. Our Qunari friend simply walked up to them and folded his arms, and they left rather quickly."

"They were fools," Sten rumbled. "We killed them anyway."

"Ah, yes, we did indeed," Zevran grinned. "They attacked us on the way back to the market, and we were forced to protect ourselves. The sergeant was most understanding."

* * *

Lake Calenhad's blue waters glittered in the sunlight. It had taken them four days to reach the lake, and the Circle Tower rose eerily from the middle of the lake in the distance. They'd met with relatively no resistance through their travels, save for a group of bandits.

"It's strange," Alistair said in a low voice. "We haven't really seen any darkspawn, other than a straggler here or there. Maybe this isn't really a Blight after all."

They walked on in silence and Alistair's expression changed. Daveth felt a strange buzzing in his head, an unintelligible whisper invaded his ears. Jory and Natia felt it, too, and the three novice Wardens clutched at this heads.

"We're not alone," Alistiar said through gritted teeth as he drew his sword. "Focus, all of you! You're hearing the darkspawn!"

The ground rumbled beneath their feet and a group of hurlocks climbed out from the dirt and charged. Alistair and Sten roared in unison and advanced on the creatures. Zevran sprinted on his toes to flank them, daggers drawn. Morrigan summoned fire, the energy around her crackling and hissing with raw power.

Daveth swallowed hard and willed himself to ignore the noise in his head. A sudden whistle of an arrow past his ear snapped him to attention. A genlock rogue appeared before him out of nothing and he lashed out quickly with a dagger, catching the beast in the throat. Jory felled another genlock, and pulled his greatsword out of its chest, and readied himself for another. Another wave of arrows flew past Daveth and he cursed.

And then, a cry broke through the sounds of battle. Daveth turned toward the sound and let out a cry of his own.

Leliana's chest was riddled with arrows that had broken through her leather armor. She looked down at the arrows and staggered, as if she was confused to see them there. The color began draining from her face, and she fell to the ground.

"Morrigan!" Daveth called out, as he ran toward the source of the arrows. "Leliana needs help!"

Finally, after the last of the darkspawn had fallen, they gathered around their fallen companion. Morrigan was applying salves to her wounds. Leliana mumbled incoherently and writhed in pain.

"I do not think the arrows were tainted, but there is nothing else I can do," the witch said quietly. "I am no healer. That is a skill I have not yet mastered."

"We can take her to the Circle," Alistair said in a strained voice. "Surely someone there can help us."

Sten moved silently and knelt down beside Leliana. He gently eased her into his arms, and began walking toward the lake.

* * *

"An-draste," Leliana whispered hoarsely, her body lay limply on the cold stone floor of the tower.. "And there I saw the Black City... it's towers for... for..." Morrigan held a wet cloth to her forehead.

"It's towers forever stain'd," Alistair began quietly, taking her hand in his own. "Its gates forever shut. Heaven has been filled with silence, I knew then, And cross'd my heart with shame."

Leliana's face twitched and she opened her eyes briefly. "Thank... you." She closed her eyes once more and her breath coming out in rasps.

"Blessed are they who stand before," Alistair continued again slowly. "The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

Natia held her face in her hands and turned toward the knight-commander, Greagoir. "You have to let us in."

"I cannot risk having these abominations break out of the Tower," Greagoir snapped. "We don't even know if any of the mages still yet live."

"If someone is alive in there, we'll find them," Natia drew herself up and looked up at him defiantly. "Let. Us. In."

Greagoir regarded her for a moment before nodding slightly and stepping aside. "Just four of you, and if you don't return with the First Enchanter, you can rot in there."

"Daveth, Sten, Jory, let's get moving," Natia said evenly, before she turned back toward Alistair and Morrigan. "Take care of her."

The heavy doors groaned open and the four stepped through into the heart of the tower. The templar standing guard at the door, shook his head at them and closed the door shut with a slam. Daveth sucked in a breath, and they began walking through the hall, their footfalls providing the only sound to the deafening silence that surrounded them all.

A scream echoed through the halls and they began to sprint. They turned a corner and found survivors, both adults and children. A demon shrouded in flames clawed its way out from the floor, and lunged forward at an older mage he remembered from Ostagar. The mage lifted her staff above her head and shouted something in an ancient language and ice shot out of the staff, catching the demon in its chest, and it fell with a roar.

"Maker's blood!" Jory sputtered, and the mage turned around and narrowed her eyes at them.

"What are you doing here, Wardens?" she eyed them suspiciously, leaning slightly against her staff. "Are you here as friends?"

"We came to find a healer," Natia began, holding the mage's gaze. "Our friend is dying."

"And instead you found the Tower in disarray," the mage nodded. "My name is Wynne, and I am a healer, but I fear I can do your friend no good from behind these thick doors. If you help me save the Tower… find more survivors… I will help your friend if I can."

"Are we going to come up against more of those… things?" Daveth asked nervously.

"Are you afraid?" Natia looked up at him curiously.

"It's the Tower. I don't trust magic." Daveth rubbed the back of his neck, and glanced around the room. "Er, no offense."

"Child, no one trusts magic," Wynne smiled ruefully. "But I am more likely to knit you a scarf than I am to turn you into a toad."

"We are wasting time," Sten interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Sten's right," Natia agreed. "And someone needs to stay here to help in case something, or someone, else shows up." She glanced around at her companions. "Sten?"

"I will stay," Sten said with a nod.

Daveth took a breath and blew it out slowly. "Then I guess we're going in. You ready, Ser Knight?"

Jory gulped and nodded. "Y-yes."

* * *

What felt like hours had passed as they fought their way through the Tower. Abominations, demons, and other creatures stalked them at every turn. They'd even come across blood mages, and survivors were few and far between. The last blood mage they'd found was a pretty thing, and begged for mercy, for her life. Natia slit her throat.

Daveth fought blindly, slashing and cutting without thinking. Those abominations had been mages once, hadn't they? It was different than fighting through the undead, Daveth thought. He was sure the undead were nothing more than vessels, but the abominations… were there still people inside?

They came to a large door and Wynne faced them. "These doors will lead us to the next set of stairs. Are we ready?"

The three companions looked at each other and back to Wynne and nodded. The mage lifted her staff and the door creaked open. A demon stood before them, different from the others they had seen. It was overgrown, and had a human-face. Perhaps this is what would have become of Arl Eamon's son eventually?

The demon looked them over and smiled, a sickening smile. "Don't you tired of all this fighting? Can't we all just rest awhile?"

"We'll hear nothing you have to say, demon," Wynne spat, her staff beginning to flicker with building energy.

"Now, now," the demon chuckled. "You'll all feel better after a nice, long rest. And when you wake up, all will seem right again. Now, _sleep._"

"A nap does sound nice," Jory rubbed at his eyes, stumbling backward. "Maybe just a short one."

"No!" Wynne replied weakly. "We… must… fight. Oh…"

"I'm not feeling very well," Daveth yawned widely, and felt himself falling to the ground. He heard Natia's voice, calling weakly, and the clatter of armor against the stone floor, and slowly he slipped away as the Fade embraced him.


	9. Chapter 9

**WARNING: **Possible trigger for physical abuse!

**AN: **_Sorry about the delay in updating. I just started working full-time again, while still staying at my part-time job and trying to parent a toddler on my off time. It's been interesting! Big thanks to sagacious_rage for being my beta and sounding board, as always. Will try not to take so long with chapter 10! _

* * *

Daveth blinked and groaned as his eyes focused against the bright light streaming in through his window. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, before bolting upright, suddenly aware that he had no idea where he was. He looked around the room and felt his stomach drop. He was in Selwood. He was home.

He swung his legs to the floor and stood up cautiously, pressing his palms against his eyes. Everything was so fuzzy, he could barely remember what he had being doing the night before, let alone when he had returned. Or had he ever really left for Denerim? Was that all a dream? He pulled on his trousers and opened the door, peering around the small living around. Pa wasn't there.

Daveth walked quietly through the room, straightening up the furniture Pa had knocked over in a drunken rage the night before. Picking up a chair, he found the painting of Ma with the cracked frame. Ma, plain but pretty, looked back at him calmly, dark curls hung limply around her face. The painter had managed to capture the twinkle of her dark eyes. He felt his mouth twitch into a frown as his gaze shifted to the crack in the frame. It had fallen off the wall once when Pa threw him against it. He was placing the frame back on the hook when the front door burst open.

"You lazy, good-for-nothing bastard," Pa growled from the door. "You was supposed to work on the firewood out back, but you haven't done nothing."

Daveth swallowed and turned around slowly. "I'll do it now, Pa, I will. I woke up feeling all fuzzy and I wasn't sure where I was, honest."

Pa spat a laugh and lurched forward. "Gonna have to make sure you won't forget about your chores again, boy. A boy's got a duty to his father."

"Duty?" Daveth muttered, suddenly feeling like he had forgotten something. "Wait, Pa, just listen – "

Pa lunged at him and swung a fist wildly, but Daveth dodged him and watched as his father stumbled against the wall. Pa turned around and snarled, picking up an iron candle holder and throwing it. It flew over Daveth's shoulder as he dodged. Daveth moved backwards and quickly rummaged through a drawer until he found a blade. He held it out in front of him, and stepped forward cautiously.

"Now, you just wait a minute," Daveth said nervously. "Something's not right here."

"You put that knife down, boy," Pa said angrily. "You know your place in this house." He stumbled forward, scowling, as he pointed his finger at his son. "You may be a man now, but you're still my boy, and I won't let you forget it. I won't!"

A face flashed through Daveth's mind and he froze. A man with stern eyes, dark hair, dark skin. "Duncan," he whispered, and his memories flooded back to him. He was at the Circle Tower, with Natia and Jory and that mage, Wynne. He was a Grey Warden.

"What's that, boy?" Pa grumbled, stepping forward. "You best speak up, before I knock them teeth of yours out."

Daveth shook his head and stepped forward. "I'm not afraid of you anymore, old man, and I don't think I'm supposed to be here. I'm a Grey Warden, see, and I haven't seen your miserable face in over six years. You could be dead, for all I know."

Pa looked startled for a moment before leaning back and letting out an inhuman laugh. "You must think you're very clever, human." The voice was no longer Pa's, and Daveth shuddered involuntarily.

"You mind telling me what's going on?" Daveth steeled himself, and suddenly felt the weight of his armor on him.

The thing-that-was-not Pa shimmered and took a new, demonic form, and grinned wickedly. "You're in the Fade, human, and in the Fade you'll stay. Unless, of course, I decide to kill you."

"And my friends? Where are they?"

"They're in their own dreams, or nightmares," the demon said as it seemed to regard the nails on a deformed hand. "Forget about them. We'll make a lovely dream for you. I'm feeling rather generous."

"I'd rather not," Daveth said firmly, feeling himself tense up.

"Then you will die, fool." The demon growled and a fountain of fire burst up from the ground next to Daveth.

He jumped away from the flame with a yelp, pulled a dagger from his sheath and threw it at the demon. The blade landed cleanly between its eyes and the demon howled in pain. Daveth quickly drew his other blade and ran forward, throwing the full force of his weight behind him as he sliced cleanly across the demon's throat. Black blood spurted out of the beast's neck and it gurgled incomprehensibly before falling to the ground.

Daveth stood over the body and caught his breath, and looked around the house again. His eyes fell on his mother's picture and he frowned. He had turned to leave when he heard a familiar voice pass through his head, as faint as a summer's breeze.

"_Let the light guide you to your friends, Davy boy. Free them to end this nightmare."_

Daveth's eyes lingered on the painting once more. He held his dagger firmly in his hand and walked toward the door, and headed into the unknown.

As he passed through the door, the scene around him flickered away. He wasn't standing in Selwood; that was for certain. The surrounding lands were bleak and twisted, and glittered eerily as light reflected against it. He turned around and saw that the house had disappeared and had been replaced with a glowing doorway. He turned around again and saw that he was now standing in a corridor filled with similar doors. And in the distance, very faintly, he saw a light.

"Thanks, Ma," he whispered, his mouth twitching into a smile, and he began walking down the corridor toward the light.

He wasn't sure how long he had been walking, though he felt like time didn't pass the same way in the Fade as it did in the real world. Strange noises floating around him so faintly, he wasn't even sure if they were really there. Each door he passed seemed to differ slightly from the one before, and Daveth felt himself wondering about the dreamers on the other side. Were they also trapped in the Fade? Or were they simply dreaming?

When Daveth felt like he couldn't walk anymore, he realized the light was directly ahead of him. The glowing orb hovered next to a door and pulsed rhythmically, like a beating heart.

"This one?" Daveth asked the orb, cocking his head toward the door. The orb pulsed brightly once. "Alright."

He pushed the door open slowly and a salty breeze wafted over him, and he heard the gentle lapping of waves in the distance. He walked through the threshold and found himself on a modest farm with a small, but cozy, house in the center of it. He began walking toward the house, passing by several cows chewing the sweetgrass beneath them lazily.

A plump woman came through the front door and hung a blanket on a line, and began beating at it with a broom. Daveth didn't think she was much to look at; not ugly, but not striking in any particular way.

"Hello!" the woman called brightly, leaning the broom against the house and wiping her hands on her apron. "You must be here to see my husband."

Daveth rubbed the back of his neck. "I suppose I am, my lady."

"What manners!" The woman threw her head back and laughed merrily, and her face lit up in a way that made her almost beautiful. "You can call me Helena, love. Jory's inside with the baby."

Daveth nodded his head and stepped through the front door. Jory was sitting in a rocking chair next to a hearth, holding a sleeping infant in his arms.

"Hello, Ser Knight," Daveth said softly, leaning against the doorframe.

"Daveth!" Jory looked up and smiled. "Come and meet my little one. This is Horace."

"Horace?" Daveth stifled a laugh as he crossed the room. The baby, wrapped in a blue knitted blanket, was the spitting image of its father.

Jory smiled down at the baby. "Yes, we named him after my father. Helena hated the name, but I wore her down eventually. Stopping the Blight had a hand in that, I think."

Daveth felt his mouth twitch into a frown. "Jory, I need you to listen to me. We didn't stop the Blight."

"What are you talking about?" Jory laughed. "There hasn't been a report on darkspawn sightings in almost six months."

"I need you to think, Ser Knight," Daveth began slowly. "Do you remember being at the Circle Tower? Do you remember what happened?"

"That was months ago," Jory waved a hand.

"Just focus," Daveth said firmly. "Think about your duty."

Jory sighed exasperatedly. "We were looking for Brother Genitivi, to find the Andraste's ashes, and Leliana was injured… so we went to the Circle to find a healer. We were going through and… we… there was a demon and… it all gets a bit fuzzy. I don't really remember much after that."

"That demon sent us to the Fade, Jory," Daveth said softly. "This is a dream."

Jory looked down at the baby in his arms. "But, I can feel him in my arms. You're saying he's not real?"

Daveth hesitated. "I'm saying that if you ever want to see your Helena again, and your baby, you need to wake up."

Jory stroked the infant's cheek and blinked away a tear. "Helena? Could you come in for a minute?"

Helena appeared at the doorway and smiled. "I'm here, darling."

"Helena, do you like it here in Redcliffe?" Jory asked quietly.

"Of course, I do," she smiled brightly, crossing the room. "I'm happy wherever you are, darling."

Jory nodded and stood up, handing the infant gently to her. "Daveth and I need to go for awhile."

"Will you be back for supper?" Helena asked sweetly. "I'm making stew."

"I love you," Jory said thickly, kissing her on the forehead. "I will see you again."

Daveth and Jory began walking through the farm toward the portal, and the scene began to flicker and fade.

"You know when I asked her about Redcliffe?" Jory said quietly, as Daveth nodded his head. "We're supposed to be in Highever. That's how I knew you were telling the truth."

* * *

The light guided them to the next portal, and Daveth pushed open the door. Great stone walls vaulted up from the ground and closed in on a stone ceiling. Carvings and sculptures chiseled out of other stones adorned the walls, and dwarves milled about at various stalls, trading wares.

"I think we're in Orzammar!" Jory said, awestruck, as he looked around.

"What gave it away, Ser Knight, the dwarves or the giant cave?" Daveth slapped the knight on the back and took a step forward. "Well, I guess we know who we're looking for here."

A guard making rounds spotted the pair and walked toward them. "What can I do for you, Wardens?"

"We're looking for someone," Daveth said with a nod. "Her name's Natia Brosca. Do you know her?"

"You'll find her at the tavern," the guard replied. "Even Paragons need some ale every now and then." He pointed toward a building a short walk away, and continued on his route.

The two Wardens made their way to the tavern and stepped inside. Natia was sitting at a long table with a crowd around her, looking absolutely miserable. She looked up when the door chimed open and she seemed to sigh in relief.

"Thank the Stone you're here," she said, jumping up from the table. "I don't know what's going on here, but I'm soddin' sick of it."

"You were waiting for us?" Jory asked, surprised.

"See that guy over there?" Natia pointed out a dwarf with braided hair and several empty pints in front of him. "That's my best friend Leske. He says he married my sister, like that would ever happen. Oh, and I'm a Paragon and that we're all nobles now. It's a bunch of nug shit. Get me out of here."

Daveth grinned and bowed slightly, holding out a hand. "Right this way, my lady."

* * *

They found Wynne sobbing, surrounded by dead mages. She dabbed at her eyes with her robes and turned around, and saw the three Wardens standing before her.

"They're all dead, I couldn't save them," she said quietly, her face twisted in pain. "Where were you when this happened? Why didn't you do anything?"

"This is a dream, Wynne," Daveth said as he took a step forward. "We're in the Fade."

"I think I'd know if I were in a dream," Wynne laughed bitterly. "No, I am being punished for failing the only family I've ever known."

One of the bodies on the ground began to stir, and a elf mage stood up beside Wynne. "It's okay, Wynne. You can stay with us forever."

"What?" Wynne gasped, backing away. "What are you?"

"I've had about enough of this," Natia growled, tossing a dagger into the elf's head. "Let's get out of here."

The sloth demon fell to the ground with a thud and disappeared.

"Now what?" Daveth asked, when another mage shimmered into view.

"Niall?" Wynne asked cautiously. "Is that you?"

Niall nodded. "It is, and you've freed me. You must use the Litany of Andralla to stop Uldred, and save us all."

"Uldred?" Wynne looked shocked. "He's behind this?"

"There's no time to explain," Niall said firmly. "Use the Litany. Maker be with you."

* * *

Uldred was dead, and the last of the abominations shrieked in pain and burst into flame. The mages on the floor moaned and shook with tears, as they realized they had been saved. Wynne ran toward an older mage on the far side of the room.

"Irving!" she cried, holding out her hand. "Oh, thank the Maker! Are you alright?"

"I am fine, Wynne," Irving said with a groan as he stood up, and moved painfully to face the Wardens. "You have my thanks."

"You can thank us by giving us a good healer," Natia said quickly. "Our friend is dying."

"By all means," Irving said with a nod. "I shall assist you personally."

Irving and Wynne stood over Leliana's body, bright light streaming from their fingertips. Daveth watched in awe as her body began to glow and the wounds on her chest began to heal. Leliana's breathing began to steady and her eyes fluttered open. She turned her head and found Alistair, still kneeling at her side, his expression strained.

"I dreamt of you," she said quietly. "Thank you for staying with me."

Alistair's cheeks flushed and he blew out a sigh. "I… er… I'm just glad you're alright."

Leliana sat up and grimaced. "Oh, I am still a little sore."

"It will take time for you to heal, child," Irving said gently. "You are lucky to be alive. Much longer and not even I could have helped you." The First Enchanter turned back to the rest of the group and inclined his head. "The Circle owes you, Wardens. We will fight with you at the end."

"Thank you," Natia said, motioning for her companions to get their things. "We'll need all of the help we can get."

"Before you go, Wardens," Wynne began slowly, not looking at Irving. "I'd like to join you."

Daveth heard Morrigan snort somewhere behind him, but Natia shushed her and began to nod. "We'd be honored to have you with us."

"If that is what you would like to do, Wynne, I will not stop you," Irving smiled wearily. "And remember, you always have a place here at the Tower, should you wish to return."

"Come on," Natia said. "We've still got to find this Brother Genitivi."

"My Qunari friend and I have already taken the liberty to speak with the proprietor of the inn," Zevran said, stepping out from the shadows. "It seems it was all a distraction. There has been no sighting of the good brother here."

"Then it looks like we have a score to settle back in Denerim," Natia said darkly.


	10. Chapter 10

Daveth walked back to camp with a bundle of firewood in his arms, Leske weaving between his legs. He wasn't sure why the dog had followed him, but if there was one thing he'd learned about the mabari it was that you couldn't make the dog do anything it didn't want to do. Leske swerved out in front of him again, and it was all he could do not to topple over.

"You're not making this very easy for me, you know," Daveth grumbled. Leske snorted a response, nose firmly planted to the ground. "It'll be night soon. Why are you following me anyway?"

Leske looked up and barked once, wagging his stubby tail, before planting his nose to the ground once more.

"Well, alright, then," Daveth chuckled. "I guess I could have worse company. Like the elf. Or the witch." The hound snorted again. "Glad to see someone agrees with me. Have you noticed how she watches the sky at night?"

Leske barked once and cocked his head at Daveth.

"I can't believe I'm talking to a dog," Daveth muttered, shifting the wood in his arms.

Leske darted out in front of him again. The cutpurse tripped, the firewood went flying behind him, and he found himself careening through the air. He landed face first into a patch of mud, and groaned as he pushed himself to his knees.

"Was that really necessary?" Daveth snapped, wiping mud off of his face.

Leske barked happily and loped off through the trees. Daveth stood up with a groan and walked after the hound, stopping to pick up the fallen firewood along the way.

When he returned to camp, muddied and bruised, the last rays of sun were stretching across the horizon. And there sat Natia, waiting for the stars to appear. He watched her for awhile, before walking slowly over to where she sat, placing the firewood in a pile. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling beautifully, and she smiled.

* * *

Two days later, they arrived in Denerim and rented rooms above Gnawed Noble tavern. When they had gone to shake out Genitivi's assistant, they'd found a corpse in the back room. The real Weylon was long dead, but it seemed he had documented Genitivi's travel plans thoroughly before his demise. They were going to a place called Haven.

That evening, Daveth sat nursing a pint of ale at the tavern, thinking. He'd never heard of Haven, and it wasn't marked on the map. Maybe that was why the urn, if it _did_ exist, was hidden there, he thought. But that was crazy talk. The urn was nothing more than a fairytale, and Bann Teagan was a fool for even considering it a possibility.

And then, his thoughts turned to Natia, and he felt a flutter in his chest as he remembered that kiss she'd planted on him. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had made him feel like that, and cursed himself for playing games. Now that Zevran was around, who knew what her feelings were anymore.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Alistair's voice jolted him into reality.

Daveth looked up and grinned. "Have a seat, Your Highness."

"Oh, Ha ha," Alistair rolled his eyes, but grinned. "I've been thinking about what you said after that whole thing with Goldanna. About looking out for myself more, I mean."

"Oh?" Daveth took a swig from his mug.

"I think you're right," the templar began slowly. "And that's what I'm going to do. I'm not going to just lie down and let people walk all over me anymore."

Daveth studied his friend for a moment, and grinned. "As long as you keep listening to Natia, I think you'll be alright. You don't want to piss her off."

"Don't I know it." Alistair laughed, shaking his head. "I think I can handle _that_, at any rate."

The men fell silent for several minutes and Daveth watched as patrons milled around the tavern. Alistair shifted nervously in his seat and cleared his throat.

"So…" he hesitated, clearing his throat again. "I was wondering if you could give me some advice about … women."

Daveth cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, I mean, you've been with women, right? In the 'oh, hey, let's get struck down by lightning' sense, right? Goldanna said you were. What's it like? Wait, I don't mean with her, I don't need to know that. Oh, Maker, now I'm rambling. This is awkward."

Daveth choked back a laugh and held up a hand. "I'm going to take a stab in the dark here, Al. What you really want to know is how to get things moving with our Orlesian beauty."

"What, Leliana?" Alistair's cheeks flushed and he chuckled nervously. "I didn't say that, did I? But I mean, let's use her as an example, sure. If I were to… you know, woo her. What would I… er… do?"

"Well, for starters, you could never say 'woo' again," Daveth snorted, and sighed. "You could talk to her, I suppose."

"But what do I talk about?" Alistair furrowed his brow and frowned.

"She did almost die, you know," Daveth frowned back. "Ask her how she's feeling."

"So, I just need to talk to her?"

"You could start with the sex, if you want to." Daveth wiggled his eyebrows.

"Right." Alistair's cheeks flamed again. "Talking it is."

* * *

The Wonders of Thedas had been one of Daveth's favorite establishments before he had been conscripted. The customers usually had fat purses, and the trinkets inside were usually small enough to pocket without much fuss. He stood at the door to the shop and felt the familiar tingle of anticipation washing over him before shaking his head and walking inside. He wasn't really sure why he had wanted to go in, but he had some time to kill before meeting up with the rest of his companions.

The scent of freshly ground cinnamon hit his nose almost immediately, and Daveth felt himself relaxing. He inhaled deeply and nodded at the shopkeep standing stiffly at the counter. If the man recognized Daveth as a former cutpurse, he didn't let on. Then again, those strange mages – or tranquils, as he had learned - from the Circle Tower never let on about _anything. _The shopkeep simply looked at him with glassy eyes and welcomed him in a flat, emotionless voice.

Daveth walked around the shop in awe. He's never noticed just how much was crammed into the space. Then again, he'd never really been there as an actual customer. Some of the books were old and worn, while others looked as if they hadn't been handled since being placed on the shelves. Trinkets lined smaller shelves and tables – golems, crystals, candles, even decorative scrolls and daggers with intricately carved hilts.

He walked over to the glass case connected to the counter and felt the breath catch in his throat. There, in the midst of some of the more expensive gems and medallions, was a skyball.

"Excuse me," Daveth called to the shopkeep. "Could I see that?" he asked, pointing at the gleaming ball.

"Certainly," the tranquil replied evenly, unlocking the case and carefully placing the skyball in Daveth's palm.

It was painted on a perfectly round sphere of polished black stone, and felt cool in his hand. He held it up and admired the work. Each skyball was painted by hand, and most represented different parts of the sky and featured different constellations. This one, Daveth noted, featured Andraste herself, complete with the trail of tears that were only visible on exceptionally clear nights.

"Perfect," Daveth murmured, turning the ball in his hand. And it _was_ perfect, in so many ways. "How much?" He asked a little louder.

The shopkeep consulted his ledger. "That one is normally five sovereigns, but we are running a special through Feast Day. We could let it go for three sovereigns."

"I'll give you one for it," Daveth countered, trying to read the other man's face.

"Two sovereigns," the shopkeep replied in that same, even voice.

"Done," Daveth said with a grin. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Daveth carefully wrapped the skyball in a scrap of cloth and tucked it into the hidden pocket he'd sewn into his armor. He walked back out to the streets of Denerim with a smile on his face, and thought about her.

* * *

Daveth and Alistair stood gaping at the bloody altar in the center of the little house in Haven, while Natia and Morrigan exchanged glances.

"'Tis human blood," Morrigan said finally, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"And how, pray tell, do you know that?" Daveth blurted out, even though he really did not want to know.

Morrigan's eyes flashed at him and she held his gaze. "What does that matter? That's hardly the point."

"Is this the part where we leave?" Alistair broke in. "Because I'm all for it."

"Let's get out of here," Natia agreed with a nod. "The sooner we get out of this place, the better."

Daveth moved toward the door and listened. "I don't think we're alone anymore." He could hear the rumbling of voices outside of the house. Carefully, he pushed open the door, drawing a dagger out of its sheath, as a swarm of villagers descended upon him. "I could use a little help over here!"

Morrigan eyes glittered dangerously and her lips curved into a smile. "I suggest holding on to something."

The air around her seemed to vibrate, and swirls of dust began circling around her. She tipped her head backward and stretched her arms above her head, a ball of energy glowing at her fingertips. She walked quickly to the door and brought the ball down to the floor, yelling something in some foreign tongue Daveth didn't understand. A shock wave of power shook the little house and Daveth struggled to keep upright. He heard screams and groans from the other side of the door, and he knew that the mob was distracted for the moment, and pushed himself through the door.

* * *

"Just tell me how to use the key, old man," Natia crossed her arms and glared down at the man on the floor.

Brother Genitivi glared up at her and struggled to push himself to his feet. "You cannot deny me this! I have come too far to leave home without knowing if the ashes exist." He tried again to stand, and cried out in pain.

"Brother," Alistair began gently, frowning emphatically. "You can't even stand. Let us help you get well enough to at least make it back to Denerim. We can't know what's in store for us on the mountain."

"Wynne will do a fine job fixing you up, that's for sure," Daveth nodded, glancing at Morrigan from the corner of his eyes. The witch rolled her eyes and looked away. "She brought one of our own back from near death, she did."

Genitivi covered his face with his hands. "I do not care what happens to me. Please, I must see it."

"I've got too much blood on my hands," Natia replied, her voice strained. "I'm not adding yours to it."

Alistair dropped to one knee and rubbed the back of his neck. "Please, brother, just tell us how to use the key. After we've assessed the ruins, we'll send word to you in Denerim. You can bring a party. It's just too dangerous."

Genitivi looked up at the group, his eyes screaming a silent plea. When no one relented, he shook his head and sighed. "Let me see it. Ah, yes. Just hit this button here and it should… yes, there it goes. There should be a locking mechanism that will fit this nicely."

"Thank you," Alistair said, inclining his head. He stood up slowly and turned to Natia. "I'll go get Wynne."

"Do you really think we should trust the angry man who worships a dragon?" Daveth murmured into Natia's ear, glancing nervously at the cultists that surrounded them. Their leader, Kolgrim, stared back at them.

"Probably not, but I'm not going to soddin' die in this cave," Natia murmured back. "Take them out to the open."

Kolgrim stepped forward, furrowing his brow. "What are you whispering about? You must make your decision. Help us allow our lady Andraste to rise again!" He lifted his hands to the ceiling, his voice echoed madly against the walls. "Or you will die!"

Natia glanced around at her companions and her face faltered for a moment. Then, she turned back to Kolgrim and stood as tall as her frame would allow. "We will help you."

"This is madness," Alistair said in a low voice, frowning. "You can't be serious."

Morrigan leaned in beside him and smirked. "Perhaps you are the one who is mad, my dear templar." Alistair's face crumbled into disgust.

The cultists began to cheer, and Kolgrim lead them to the top of the mountain. The doorway opened up to a windy pass, high above Ferelden. Daveth felt a chill run down his spine as the cold air hit him. And then a sound, unlike anything he had heard before, echoed along the mountaintop and a dragon flew overhead.

Kolgrim ran toward it, praising Andraste's name as he ran, and the dragon spotted them. It roared again and came soaring down to the ground, teeth dripping saliva and smoke billowing wildly from its nostrils.

Daveth felt his jaw drop as he stared at the beast before him. The _size_ of it was unbelievable, and he could feel the heat radiated from its body. He watched with sick fascination as Kolgrim approached the dragon, bowing to it. Speaking to it.

He heard nothing over the din of blood thumping behind his ears. He was sure they were all going to die, to become a snack for the magnificent creature before them.

And then, the dragon roared and flew into the air. Daveth and the others staggered backward as the wind generated by its wings hit them, and they watched as the beast perched itself onto a crag of rocks overlooking them.

"The Prophetess Andraste has given you her blessing!" Kolgrim cried, raising his arms to the sky, before reaching into his pack and pulling out a vial of blood. "Take this, and pour the blood on Andraste's ashes. It is up to you to help her reclaim her true form. We will wait for you here."

Natia looked shaken and looked away from the madman. "Right, well, we'll get right on that." She quickly began to walk across the pathway, toward a door built into the wall on the other side of the mountain.

"Such a majestic creature," Morrigan breathed, her eyes shining, as they followed her.

"Or, you know, terrifying," Alistair chuckled nervously.

Daveth looked warily over his shoulder at the cultists behind him and followed them. They reached the door and Natia slowly pushed it open, and they crossed the threshold.

* * *

**Author's note: **_You know who rocks? sagacious_rage, for being my beta and for listening to me whine about how little time I have to write anymore. Seriously, this working two jobs gig? Kind of lame. Thanks to those who are sticking with the story despite the long gaps!_


	11. Chapter 11

The temple was silent, and Daveth noticed that not even their footsteps on the aging stone made a sound. There was some kind of magic at work there, he thought as they stepped carefully over debris. They climbed a small set of stairs and entered another room where a lone man stood in gleaming armor. He assessed them with hollow eyes that spoke of a sadness so ancient that it seemed almost forgotten, like the crumbled halls of the temple itself.

"I bid you welcome, pilgrims," the man said quietly, his eyes moving from face to face.

Daveth and Natia exchanged a glance and Natia cleared her throat. "Are you the Guardian?"

"Yes," the Guardian replied evenly. "I am the Guardian of the ashes. I have waited years for this."

"How long have you been here, exactly?" Natia's mouth quirked into a frown.

The Guardian met her gaze and slowly began to speak. "It has been my duty… my life… to protect the Urn, and prepare the way for the faithful to come and revere Andraste. For years beyond counting, I have been here, and shall remain until my task is done and the Imperium has crumbled into the sea."

"And what if your task is never fulfilled?" Morrigan drawled with a smirk.

"I do not know, and I do not question." The Guardian's gaze drifted toward the witch, his tone even and emotionless.

Daveth felt a chill run down this spine and shuddered involuntarily. The Guardian seemed to notice his discomfort, and his gaze slowly drifted toward the rogue. Daveth swallowed a lump in his throat and took a step backward.

Natia frowned slightly as she tilted her head in Daveth's direction. "You okay?" she murmured. Daveth nodded briefly, keenly aware that the Guardian was watching the display. Natia looked back at the Guardian and squared her shoulders. "We need to get to the Urn."

"You have come to honor Andraste, and you shall do so." The Guardian looked down at her and nodded. "If you prove yourselves worthy."

Daveth rubbed the back of his neck and shifted uncomfortably. Tests of worth were not something a cutpurse – reformed or no - ever stepped into lightly.

"'Prove' ourselves?" Natia echoed with an arched an eyebrow. "Do we have to… fight you?"

"It is not my place to decide your worthiness. The Gauntlet does that." The Guardian said with a slight shake of his head. "If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be able to take a small pinch of ashes for yourself. If not…"

"No pressure or anything," Daveth mumbled to himself.

"None at all," Alistair agreed quietly.

* * *

A hush fell over the group as their eyes focused on wait lay before them. An altar covered with a thin layer of dust stood in the center of the room and beyond that, a line of fire that spread from one end of the room to the next. And beyond the flame rose a grand monument which cradled what looked to be an urn.

"Well, this looks inviting!" Daveth joked as he slapped Alistair on the back. "Maybe Morrigan can just conjure up a rain cloud to put this out."

"Only a fool would suggest such an idea," Morrigan replied shortly, crossing her arms over her chest. "'Tis no ordinary fire, that must should be obvious."

Out of the corner of his eye, Daveth saw Natia approach then altar and blow away some of the dust revealing an inscription. Alistair stepped in beside her and read the inscription in a solemn voice that Daveth was quite sure he had been required to perfect during his templar training.

"Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit," Alistair began, the fire crackling quietly as he spoke. "King and slave, lord and begger; be born anew in the Maker's sight." The templar fell silent for a moment before turning to his companions. "It's baptism by fire."

"So, we have to walk through the fire?" Natia asked with raised eyebrows.

"Right," Alistair said with a nod as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink. "And, er, it looks like we need to remove our… worldly trappings. You know, our… clothes."

Morrigan let out a snort. "I am not stripping down to my smallclothes."

"It's not as if you wear very much to begin with," Daveth replied cheerfully. Morrigan's yellow eyes blazed at him. "What, I'm not supposed to notice?"

"If that's what we need to do, it's what we're going to do." Natia began unbuckling her patchwork armor. She looked up at her companions, visibly irritated. "Well, come on."

Daveth started unbuckling his own armor and Alistair did the same. Morrigan rolled her eyes, but deftly pulled out the knot for her top and dropped it to the ground. Under any other circumstances Daveth would have been eyeing the dark-haired witch appreciatively, but today his gaze rested on the pretty dwarf.

The first thing Daveth noticed was the dangerous curve of her hips and how they connected to a well-sculpted waist. That waist flowed smoothly up to an ample chest which, unfortunately, was still covered by a worn leather bra. His eyes then moved upwards to broad, feminine shoulders that connected to a slender neck. And from her neck, he let his eyes fall on her face – tattooed and branded, flecked with blood and dirt – and he felt something stir in his stomach. An odd sensation that reminded him of catching butterflies as a boy and how they would flutter delicately in the fine glass jars his mother collected.

And then he felt _another_ part of him stirring to life, and he hastily covered himself with his hands. Daveth quickly averted his gaze to the floor and willed himself to think of something, _anything_, other than what was currently running through his mind. He glanced around the room and found Alistair furtively studying the cracked stone flooring, his own hands clasped firmly over his front. Morrigan stood with her arms crossed, silently seething. He let his eyes fall back on Natia and found that she had been looking at _him_, and she quickly turned her eyes away, her chest and cheeks mottled to a perfect shade of red.

After a moment, Natia cleared her throat. "Well, we should get this over with."

Daveth sucked in a breath and found he was trembling slightly. He'd faced darkspawn and the undead. He'd watched a woman give up her life for a blood magic ritual. Maker's blood, he had even _drunk_ darkspawn blood in the name of becoming a Grey Warden. And here he was, trembling in his smallclothes, because he had to walk through a wall of enchanted flames. He steeled himself and forced his right foot forward, then his left. He could feel the heat of the flame radiating against him and he squeezed his eyes shut, and in one swift movement, forced himself through the flames.

Warmth spread over his body, like the feeling of stepping into the sunlight on a cloudy day. His breathing steadied and he opened his eyes, checking himself for burns. He found that not only was he unscathed, but the blood and dirt and cuts and bruises he had accumulated in the mountain had disappeared. Baptized by fire, indeed.

Suddenly a voice boomed from behind them, and Daveth turned to see the Guardian standing amidst the flame.

"You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet and you have walked the path of Andraste," the Guardian's voice echoed against the walls. "Like her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourselves worthy, pilgrims."

With that, the flames began to die and the Guardian shimmered out of focus and disappeared.

"Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm putting my clothes back on," Alistair said after a moment, and they went to retrieve their things.

After they had dressed, they walked toward the staircase to the monument. Natia was clutching something in her hand and took a tentative step on the stairs before motioning for the rest to follow her. They climbed the staircase and approached the urn, and Daveth felt the blood pumping in his ears.

"I didn't think anyone would succeed in finding Andraste's final resting place," Alistair spoke in a hushed voice. "But here… here she is."

"I am in awe," Morrigan said in an uncharacteristic tone. "Really."

Daveth found himself speechless and watched as Natia took a step toward the urn. He looked down at her hand and realized he was clutching the vial that Kolgrim had given her, and reached out and grabbed her arm. "Don't do it."

Natia's eyes darted over his face and she looked down at the vial in her hand. "But… I don't…" She looked back up at Daveth and the look on her face almost took his breath away. She was scared.

"We'll figure it out," Daveth leaned down and murmured into her ear. "Just… don't do it."

She nodded at him after a moment and held up her hand, and let the vial fall to the floor. The glass shattered with a satisfying _chink_ and Daveth let out a breath. Natia turned toward the urn and pulled a pinch of ashes out of the pot and placed them in a satchel that Morrigan had given her for collecting herbs. She turned back to Daveth and gave him a small smile, and the group walked through the heavy door back to the mountaintop.

* * *

Kolgrim was waiting for them. He stood in front of a dozen or so other cultists, watching for them. Daveth looked up toward the rocky crag where the dragon had nested earlier. The dragon was gone, and a plan began to form.

"Something tells me they're not going to just let us walk away," Alistair murmured, slowly pulling his sword out of its scabbard.

"I have an idea," Daveth said placing his hand on Natia's shoulder. Natia, Alistair and Morrigan listened to the plan and Morrigan's eyes flashed with excitement. Alistair replaced the sword into the scabbard on his back and walked with Natia toward the cultists.

Daveth and Morrigan retreated to the shadows behind a rocky pillar and watched. Daveth pulled his longbow from off his back and deftly loaded an arrow and held the bow at the ready. He pulled the string back, smirking at the satisfying tension that he had created. He focused on Kolgrim and watched as the cultists began to follow his friends back toward the temple.

"Be ready," Daveth whispered, and Morrigan's staff began to glow. Daveth's eyes never left Kolgrim. "Ready… ready… now!"

Daveth let go of the string and let his arrow fly. It _swooshed_ through the air, and found its target. Kolgrim stopped short in his path, the arrow having cut cleanly through his head, and he seemed to stagger forward, before falling to the ground. Alistair and Natia began to run toward the shadows, and Morrigan, at the same moment, yelled something in a language that Daveth did not understand and pieces from the rocky crag began to crumble and fall, crushing the cultists beneath them.

* * *

It was quiet back down in Haven. The group walked slowly, cautiously, down the rocky hill toward the center of town. What they found waiting for them caused even Morrigan to stop short.

Daveth stared at the bodies lying on the ground before them and felt the bile rising in this throat.

"The children," Natia whispered, her voice breaking. "They killed the children."

* * *

It was threatening to rain when they reached camp. Leliana greeted them with a smile which quickly faltered when she saw their faces.

"What's happened?" she came to them and put a hand on Alistair's cheek. "Were you unable to find the ashes?"

The rest of their companions gathered around the fire and listened as Alistair told them everything.

Daveth watched as Natia numbly stood and began to walk off away from the group, and he stood up and followed her. When they were out of earshot, Natia fell to her knees, cradled her head in her hands and began to sob. Daveth went to her and sat on the cold, hard ground and pulled her toward him. She collapsed against him, body shuddering with each intake of breath.

"Why did they kill the children?" she gasped. "We caused this. If we hadn't gone there…"

Daveth stroked her hair. "We were doing our job, there was no way to know what was going on there."

"We murdered an entire village," Natia sobbed. "All for the ashes of a fucking dead woman."

Daveth hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead, and together they sat until the sun began to rise.

* * *

Daveth blinked against the sunlight and realized he was lying in the grass. Natia was nestled against him.

"Natia," he murmured against her hair. "It's daylight."

"Hmm?" Natia yawned and opened her eyes. "Oh… did we… fall asleep?"

"Must have," Daveth chuckled, stretching his arms above his head. "Either that or the mages played a nasty trick on us."

Natia sat up and smoothed her hair out. "Um, thank you."

Daveth pushed himself up beside her and nodded. "I, you know, just wanted to make sure you were okay." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and took a breath. "I… er… got you something when we were in Denerim."

"You…" Natia began but stopped short as he pulled the velvet sack out of his pocket and placed it gently in her hands. She carefully opened it up and sucked in a breath when she saw the skyball. "What is it?"

"It's a skyball," Daveth said quietly. "For the times when you want to see the stars, but it's cloudy or daytime… or who knows where else we'll end up?" He held the skyball up. "See there? That's Andraste."

Natia's eyes glistened with tears and she turned toward him. She brought a hand up to his face and stroked his cheek lightly and pulled him down into a kiss. It was soft and slow, and Daveth felt the fluttering in his stomach once more. He wrapped his arms around her and they melted together.

And for a moment the only thing that mattered was that they were together.

* * *

**AN:** Here is my obligatory "sorry for taking so long" note. But really, thank you to those who continue to read despite me having a crazy schedule that doesn't allow me to write as much as I would like to. And a huge thank you to valiasedai for being my second pair of eyes and helping me with comma abuse and epic run-on sentences!


	12. Chapter 12

Soft billows of smoke rose into the air as they approached Redcliffe once again and the air smelled like rain and Andraste's Grace. Daveth absentmindedly touched his fingers to his lips. He swore he could still feel them tingling from their earlier contact, and silently chided himself for it. It was just a kiss, after all.

A perfectly electrifying kiss.

He felt a shiver run down his spine. He remembered awkward, sloppy kisses with a farmer's daughter, and forbidden kisses with a Denerim priest. He remembered needy kisses that smelled like fresh laundry, and kisses just for the sake of kissing. Sure, he'd been with his share of women, but he wasn't sure that he'd ever felt anything like _that_ before.

A sudden crunch of leaves jolted him out of his head and Jory fell into step beside him. The knight had taken up the habit of rounding out the end of their makeshift caravan, which suited everyone just fine.

Jory nodded at Daveth and surveyed the road. Despite the chill in the air, sweat was beading on the knight's forehead, no doubt from the heavy iron armor he was wearing.

"I remember when this road was bustling with traffic," Daveth said after a pause. "It's hard to believe this is the same place."

The knight grunted in agreement. "I never thought I'd see Redcliffe in such a state." The pair walked on for a moment in silence. "Do you really think the ashes will help Arl Eamon?"

"No." Daveth thought for a moment, scratching his chin. "But I didn't think we'd find them in the first place."

* * *

Daveth, Alistair, Natia and Leliana slipped into Redcliffe Castle.

Bann Teagan sat in the main hall, hunched forward with his head resting in his hands. His fingers were balled up into fistfuls of his hair, and Daveth noticed how white the man's knuckles were. It was a wonder he had any hair left at all.

Ser Perth cleared his throat. "The Wardens have returned, ser."

Teagan lifted his head and wearily regarded them. The bags under his eyes indicated he had not slept in quite some time, and his face was drawn with worry. "Alistair," Teagan said after a pause. "Tell me, were you successful? Did you find the Ashes?"

"We did," Alistair nodded. "How is the arl?"

"I wish I could say that his condition improved while you were gone, but I cannot," Teagan replied as he pushed himself out of the chair. "Come. We must tend to him."

They followed Teagan upstairs to the arl's room where a mage in worn and tattered robes was standing over Eamon, hand outstretched over the arl's body and glowing blue with energy.

"That is Fredric," Teagan said quietly. "He is my personal healer in Rainsfere. I sent for him after you left." Teagan strode forward. "Fredric, the Wardens have been successful. We have the Ashes."

The blue glow dissipated as Fredric turned and spoke in a quiet, soothing voice. "Bring them to me. This will require much concentration."

Natia dug into her pack and pulled out the satchel of Ashes. She held it out to the healer, and then stepped back between Daveth and Alistair. Daveth felt her hand on his and a sudden squeeze of pressure as she grabbed hold of it. He closed his own hand around hers and they watched as Fredric dipped his fingers into the satchel and sprinkled them over the arl.

The healer began to chant in a low, rhythmic tone and Daveth felt the energy begin to shift. The hair on his arms stood on end, like a surge of static electricity had swept over him. Arl Eamon began to shimmer with Fredric's healing light and his chest heaved upward. After a moment, Fredric dropped his hand and the glow dissipated.

The room was still and Daveth saw Alistair tense from the corner of his eye. Suddenly there was a sharp intake of a breath and the arl began to cough. His eyes fluttered open and Teagan moved to his brother's side. Alistair let out his own breath and Leliana put her hand on his shoulder.

"Isolde," Eamon said weakly. "Where are you, Isolde?"

Teagan knelt down by Eamon's side.. "I am here, brother."

"Teagan?" Eamon struggled to focus on his brother's face. "Where is Isolde? Where is my son?"

"Connor is alive, Eamon, but Isolde and many others were not so lucky," the bann said quietly. "Much has happened while you were ill."

Eamon pushed himself up and leaned against the headboard. "Tell me everything."

* * *

Daveth wandered around the castle, fingers resting lightly on one of his daggers. What if they had missed one of those monsters and it was still lurking in the shadows somewhere? He shivered at the thought and found himself in a hallway lined with stands of armor. He walked slowly, eyeing the figures suspiciously. He then found himself standing in a room lined with walls of books. In the center stood an impressive desk.

"This must be the arl's study," a voice sang from behind. Daveth spun around with his hand on his dagger. Leliana stood giggling in the doorway.

"Maker's blood, Leliana!" Daveth yelped, struggling to put his blade back in its holster. "What are you doing?"

"Snooping," Leliana giggled and leaned against the door frame. "What are you doing?"

"Snooping," Daveth grinned at her as his heart slowed to a normal rhythm. "Old habits die hard, I guess." He moved around to the other side of the desk and began opening drawers. The top drawer was locked, but with the hairpin Natia had given him and a slight flick of the wrist, he had it open in seconds. Inside lay a silver amulet with an impression of Andraste. It was lined with cracks. Daveth held it up by the chain. "Someone got angry with this."

"I know what that is!" Leliana gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. She slipped forward and took the amulet from him. "This belonged to Alistair's mother! He told me it was the only thing he had of hers and he broke it when the arl sent him off to the Chantry."

Daveth scratched his chin and eyed the necklace. "Well, somebody spent a lot of time putting it back together." He heard a door creak open nearby. "We should get out of here."

Leliana closed her hands around the amulet and held it to her breast. "I can't leave this here."

"Give it here," Daveth said. He took the necklace and slipped it into the hidden pocket he had sewn into his pack. "After you, milady." He gave an exaggerated bow and flashed a grin.

"You are too kind." Leliana giggled and stepped into the hallway with Daveth in tow. They made their way back to the main hall and found Alistair speaking with Teagan.

"Eamon would like to speak with you all in the morning," Teagan said to Alistair. "Of course, you and your friends are welcome to stay in the castle."

"Be sure to tell Arl Eamon how grateful we are, Bann Teagan," Alistair replied.

Teagan put a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Please, Alistair, we've known each other for too long for such formality. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go check on Eamon."

Alistair walked over to them and blew out a breath. "Well, we've got beds for the night if we want them. The castle is certainly big enough to accommodate everyone."

"I think we'll keep camp set up for the night." Natia's eyes flickered over her companions. "Don't know if Sten would be welcome. They're having a hard enough time with a dwarf."

Alistair's mouth twitched downward. "I can understand that, I suppose."

"Surely some of us could stay in the castle for the night," Leliana chimed in. "That way we won't run the risk of looking ungrateful."

Daveth found himself staring at the spot of the floor where Lady Isolde had bled out. "I'll stay in camp. This place gives me the creeps."

"Fine." Natia furrowed her brow and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Everyone else is still in town. We'll find out who wants to stay here and the rest of us will meet you here in the morning."

* * *

Daveth rubbed at his eyes and groaned. He was tired, but he'd found that sleep no longer came easily. He heard things, felt things, but usually he could ignore them if he had something else to focus on – like Jory's snoring. But, Jory and most of the others, had decided to stay at the castle for the night, and the faint crackle of the campfire wasn't enough to quell to the constant hum in the back of his head. The song he couldn't quite make out that he heard so often in his dreams. He stared miserably at the ceiling of his tent for a few minutes before sitting up, defeated, and slipping outside.

Sten was on watch, cutting an imposing figure in the darkness. Daveth cleared his throat as he walked up to the qunari and Sten turned his head toward him.

"I'll take watch," Daveth said in a low voice. "Might as well get some shut-eye while you can."

Sten worked his jaw as he considered the Warden's proposal, before nodding and relaxing his stance. "Very well. It has been quiet."

Daveth watched as the qunari walked heavily to his own tent and disappeared. He stretched his arms over his head and inhaled the brisk night air deeply before beginning his laps around the camp's perimeter. He found the crunch of his boots on the ground a welcome distraction to the humming in his head. He was halfway around the camp when he heard a muffled voice coming from the circle of tents. Natia forced her way through the flaps of one of them, muttering curses. Her hair was down from its usual pony tail and cascaded in soft waves to her shoulders.

Daveth felt the fluttering in his chest and approached her. "Can't sleep?"

Natia looked at him and shrugged. "Don't do much sleeping these days. There's just too much…" She gestured with her hands while she struggled to find the word.

"Noise?" Daveth finished the thought for her. "It's the same for me."

"Yeah," she replied with a frown, her brown eyes focused on nothing in particular.

"Oh, it's not so bad," Daveth flashed her a grin. "I figure it's just a small price to pay for being a big damn hero."

Natia raised an eyebrow and snorted. "You're crazy."

"Now, is that any way to talk to a hero?"

Natia threw her head back and laughed and a loose strand of hair fell onto her face. Daveth brushed it away and tucked it behind her ear. Their eyes locked and Daveth found himself hoping he would never have to look away.

"What are you doing to me?" Daveth murmured, running a calloused thumb over her cheek.

"Shut up," she whispered as she reached up and stretched her arms around his neck, forcing him to bend down. She pressed her mouth to his and the familiar jolt traveled down his body and his skin to prickled with goosebumps.

He deepened the kiss, and ran his fingers through her hair. He brought his knees to the ground and knelt in front of her.

"What are we doing?" She rasped, breath hot against his cheek.

Daveth brushed his lips against her neck and felt her shiver. "Kissing."

Their lips met again and Daveth heard nothing except their breathing. He was acutely aware of her hands on the back of his neck and her forcing him down on the ground. She straddled him and he brought a hand to her thigh, praising the Maker that she wore so little armor. He slid his hand higher up her leg as their tongues danced together.

"I do hope I am not interrupting."

Daveth and Natia pulled away from each other and stared stupidly at Morrigan. The witch looked down at them with her arms crossed across her chest. Her face was twisted into a look of disgust.

"What, Morrigan?" Natia asked, clearly annoyed.

"Oh, 'tis nothing of importance." Morrigan sneered, waving a hand dramatically. "Please, do continue. I am certain you two are paying extra care to our surroundings to make up for your… activity."

Daveth cleared his throat and let his eyes fall to the ground. They were so focused on each other, that neither heard the approaching footsteps.

"What… what are you even doing up?" Natia stammered as she stumbled to her feet.

"I heard you carrying on like animals," Morrigan replied in a slow, deliberate tone. "We are in a vulnerable state tonight. You would do well to take more care." With that, the witch turned and stalked back toward her tent.

Daveth and Natia stayed silent for a few moments, staring foolishly at the ground. Morrigan was right – they hadn't been thinking. Daveth ran his hand over his face and sighed.

"So…" Daveth said finally when he couldn't bear the silence any longer. "She was right, I guess."

"Yeah." Natia looked at him, a smile forming at the corners of her mouth. "I haven't been caught doing anything like that in awhile."

Daveth grinned and leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. "It was fun while it lasted."

Natia kissed him one last time and smoothed her hair back. "I'm going back to camp, you coming?"

"Yeah," Daveth said as he pushed himself up. "After you, milady."

* * *

"It is settled then." Arl Eamon sat in his ornate chair and stroked his beard. "Alistair will be put forth as king at a Landsmeet."

"Don't I get a say in this?" Alistair shook his head. "Doesn't what I want matter?"

The arl stood and walked toward the templar. "You have a duty to Ferelden, Alistair. It is time for you to step up and be the leader your country needs."

Alistair glanced around the room uneasily and, after a moment, nodded in defeat and looked at the wall.

"Before I call the Landsmeet, you will need to find more allies." The arl turned his attention back to the rest of the group. "Alistair told me of the Grey Warden treaties. Use them, and we may be able to stop Loghain and unite Ferelden against the darkspawn."

* * *

The four Wardens sat in an empty study in the castle and looked over the treaties.

"Well, we have Redcliffe and the Circle with us now," Alistair began slowly. "So, that leaves the dwarves and the Dalish."

Daveth nodded. "I think we should head up to Orzammar. It's closer, and we don't even know if we'll be able to find the elves." He looked up and saw that Alistair and Jory were nodding in agreement.

"I agree," Jory said. "I say we go to Orzammar."

"Orzammar." Alistair chimed in as he rolled the treaties back up.

Natia's mouth twitched a tiny movement. "I hope you topsiders aren't claustrophobic."

Daveth chuckled and they went to find the rest of the group, and prepare for the trek to the dwarven kingdom.

* * *

_**AN:** Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much I do. As always, a big thank you to the wonderful sagacious_rage, who helps me fix things when I accidentally the words._


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